TENNYSON 
DAY -BY -DAY 


EDITED-BY 

ANNA  •  H  •  SMITH 


NEW -YORK 
T  •  Y-  CROWELL  &,  CO 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,   1907,  BY  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  CO. 
PUBLISHED  SEPTEMBER,   1907 


JANUARY 
» 

JANUARY  FIRST 

THE  niglit  is  starry  and  cold,  my  friend, 
And  the  New-year  blithe  and  bold,  my 
friend, 
Comes  up  to  take  his  own. 

There 's  a  new  foot  on  the  floor,  my  friend, 
A  new  face  at  the  door,  my  friend, 

A  new  face  at  the  door. 

Death  of  the  Old  Tear 

JANUARY  SECOND 

The  old  order  changeth,  yielding  place  to  new, 

And  God  fulfils  himself  in  many  ways, 

Lest  one  good  custom  should  corrupt  the  world. 

Morte  D 'Arthur 

JANUARY  THIRD 

Fly, happy  happy  sails  and  bear  the  Press; 
Fly  happy  with  the  mission  of  the  Cross; 
Knit  land  to  land,  and  blowing  havenward 
With  silks,  and  fruits,  and  spices,  clear  of  toll, 
Enrich  the  markets  of  the  golden  year. 

The  Golden  Year 


JANUARY  FOURTH 

Men,  my  brothers,  men  the  workers,  ever  reaping 

something  new: 
That  which  they  hav^  done  but  earnest  of  the 

things  that  they  shall  do. 

Locksley  Hall 

JANUARY  FIFTH 

He  heeded  not  reviling  tones, 

Nor  sold  his  heart  to  idle  moans, 

Tho'  cursed  and  scorn'd,  and  bruised  with  stones : 

But  looking  upward,  full  of  grace, 
He  pray'd,  and  from  a  happy  place 

God's  glory  smote  him  on  the  face. 

The  T<wo  Voices 

JANUARY  SIXTH 

For  tho'  the  Giant  Ages  heave  the  hill 
And  break  the  shore,  and  evermore 
Make  and  break,  and  work  their  will ; 
Tho'  world  on  world  in  myriad  myriads  roll 
Round  us,  each  with  different  powers, 
And  other  forms  of  life  than  ours, 
What  know  we  greater  than  the  soul  ? 
On  God  and  Godlike  men  we  build  our  trust. 

Ode  on  the  Death  of  Wellington 

JANUARY  SEVENTH 

Bring  in  great  logs  and  let  them  lie, 
To  make  a  solid  core  of  heat ; 


Be  cheerful-minded,  talk  and  treat 
Of  all  things  ev'n  as  he  were  by. 


In  Memoriam 


JANUARY  EIGHTH 

I  will  not  shut  me  from  my  kind, 
And,  lest  I  stiffen  into  stone, 
I  will  not  eat  my  heart  alone, 

Nor  feed  with  sighs  a  passing  wind. 


In  Memoriam 


JANUARY  NINTH 

O  purblind  race  of  miserable  men, 
How  many  among  us  at  this  very  hour 
Do  forge  a  life-long  trouble  for  ourselves; 
By  taking  true  for  false,  or  false  for  true ; 
Here,  thro'  the  feeble  twilight  of  this  world 
Groping,  how  many,  until  we  pass  and  reach 

That  other,  where  we  see  as  we  are  seen ! 

Enid 

JANUARY  TENTH 

Make  knowledge  circle  with  the  winds; 
But  let  her  herald,  Reverence,  fly 
Before  her  to  whatever  sky 
Bear  seed  of  men  and  growth  of  minds. 

"Lo<ve  Thou  Thy  Land" 
JANUARY  ELEVENTH 

I  said,  "The  years  with  change  advance: 

If  I  make  dark  my  countenance, 

I  shut  my  life  from  happier  chance." 

The  Tnuo  f^oicet 
[3] 


JANUARY  TWELFTH 

Reign  thou  above  the  storms  of  sorrow  and  ruth 
That  roar   beneath ;  unshaken    peace  hath  won 

thee: 

So  shalt  thou  pierce  the  woven  glooms  of  truth ; 
So  shall  the  blessing  of  the  meek  be  on  thee ; 
So  in  thine  hour  of  dawn,  the  body's  youth, 

An  honourable  eld  shall  come  upon  thee. 

Sonnet 

JANUARY  THIRTEENTH 

Let  there  be  thistles,  there  are  grapes ; 

If  old  things,  there  are  new; 
Ten  thousand  broken  lights  and  shapes, 

Yet  glimpses  of  the  true. 
Let  raffs  be  rife  in  prose  and  rhyme, 

We  lack  not  rhymes  and  reasons, 
As  on  this  whirligig  of  Time 

We  circle  with  the  seasons. 

Will  Waterproof**  Monologue 

JANUARY  FOURTEENTH 

Late,  late,  so  late  !  and  dark  the  night  and  chill ! 
Late,  late,  so  late  !  but  we  can  enter  still. 
Too  late,  too  late !  ye  cannot  enter  now. 

No  light  had  we:  for  that  we  do  repent; 
And  learning  this,  the  bridegroom  will  relent. 
Too  late,  too  late  !  ye  cannot  enter  now. 

Gtattewerg 

[4] 


JANUARY  FIFTEENTH 

Watch  what  main-currents  draw  the  years : 
Cut  Prejudice  against  the  grain  : 
But  gentle  words  are  always  gain  : 

Regard  the  weakness  of  thy  peers. 

"Love  Thou  Thy  Land" 

JANUARY  SIXTEENTH 

Is  this  enough  to  say 
That  my  desire,  like  all  strongest  hopes, 
By  its  own  energy  fulfilled  itself, 

Merged  in  completion  ? 

The  Gardeners  Daughter 

JANUARY  SEVENTEENTH 

Two  children  in  two  neighbour  villages 
Playing  mad  pranks  along  the  heathy  leas; 
Two  strangers  meeting  at  a  festival ; 
Two  lovers  whispering  by  an  orchard  wall; 
Two  lives  bound  fast  in  one  with  golden  ease; 
Two  graves  grass-green  beside  a  gray  church- 
tower, 

Wash'd  with  still  rains  and  daisy-blossomed ; 
Two  children  in  one  hamlet  born  and  bred; 
So  runs  the  round  of  life  from  hour  to  hour. 

Circumstance 

JANUARY  EIGHTEENTH 

Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  and  lower  the 
proud ; 

[5] 


Turn  thy  wild  wheel  thro'  sunshine,  storm,  and 

cloud ; 
Thy  wheel  and  thee  we  neither  love  nor  hate. 

Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  with  smile  or 

frown ; 

With  that  wild  wheel  we  go  not  up  or  down ; 
Our  hoard  is  little,  but  our  hearts  are  great. 

Smile  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  many  lands; 
Frown  and  we  smile,  the  lords  of  our  own  hands ; 

For  man  is  man  and  master  of  his  fate. 

Enid 

JANUARY  NINETEENTH 

Oh !  who  would  fight  and  march  and  counter- 
march, 

Be  shot  for  sixpence  in  a  battle-field, 
And  shovell'd  up  into  a  bloody  trench 

Where  no  one  knows? 

Audley  Court 

JANUARY  TWENTIETH 

He, 

Vex'd  with  a  morbid  devil  in  his  blood 
That  veiPd  the  world  with  jaundice,  hid  his  face 
From  all  men,  and  commercing  with  himself, 
He  lost  the  sense  that  handles  daily  life — 
That  keeps  us  all  in  order  more  or  less — 
And  sick  of  home  went  overseas  for  change. 

Walking  to  the  Mail 

[6] 


JANUARY  TWENTY-FIRST 

For  Love  himself  took  part  against  himself 
To  warn  us  off,  and  Duty  loved  of  Love — 

0  this  world's  curse,  —  beloved  but  hated  —  came 
Like  Death  betwixt  thy  dear  embrace  and  mine, 
And  crying,  "Who  is  this?  behold  thy  bride," 

She  push'd  me  from  thee. 

Lo<ve  and  Duty 

JANUARY  TWENTY-SECOND 

For  me,  I  thank  the  saints,  I  am  not  great. 
For  if  there  ever  come  a  grief  to  me 

1  cry  my  cry  in  silence,  and  have  done : 

None  knows  it,  and  my  tears  have  brought  me 

good : 

But  even  were  the  griefs  of  little  ones 
As  great  as  those  of  great  ones,  yet  this  grief 
Is  added  to  the  griefs  the  great  must  bear, 
That  howsoever  much  they  may  desire 
Silence,  they  cannot  weep  behind  a  cloud. 

Guinevere 

JANUARY  TWENTY-THIRD 

Shy  she  was,  and  I  thought  her  cold ; 

Thought  her  proud,  and  fled  over  the  sea; 
Fill'd  I  was  with  folly  and  spite, 

When  Ellen  Adair  was  dying  for  me. 

Bitterly  wept  I  over  the  stone  :   . 
Bitterly  weeping  I  turn'd  away : 

[7] 


There  lies  the  body  of  Ellen  Adair  ! 
And  there  the  heart  of  Edward  Gray  ! 

Edward  Gray 

JANUARY  TWENTY-FOURTH 

Love  that  hath  us  in  the  net, 
Can  he  pass,  and  we  forget? 
Many  suns  arise  and  set. 
Many  a  chance  the  years  beget. 
Love  the  gift  is  Love  the  debt. 

Even  so. 

The  Miller  s  Daughter 

JANUARY  TWENTY-FIFTH 

Love  is  hurt  with  jar  and  fret. 
Love  is  made  a  vague  regret. 
Eyes  with  idle  tears  are  wet. 
Idle  habit  links  us  yet. 
What  is  love  ?  for  we  forget : 

Ah,  no  !  no  ! 

The  Miller's  Daughter 

JANUARY  TWENTY-SIXTH 

Forgive!  How  many  will  say,  "forgive,"  and 

find 

A  sort  of  absolution  in  the  sound 
To  hate  a  little  longer !  No ;  the  sin 
That  neither  God  nor  man  can  well  forgive, 

Hypocrisy,  I  saw  it  in  him  at  once. 

Sea  Dreams 

[8] 


JANUARY  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

Overquick  art  thou 

To  catch  a  loathly  plume  fall'n  from  the  wing 
Of  that  foul  bird  of  rapine  whose  whole  prey 

Is  man's  good  name. 

Vinrien 

JANUARY  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

The  world  will  not  believe  a  man  repents : 
And  this  wise  world  of  ours  is  mainly  right. 
Full  seldom  does  a  man  repent,  or  use 
Both  grace  and  will  to  pick  the  vicious  quitch 
Of  blood  and  custom  wholly  out  of  him, 
And  make  all  clean,  and  plant  himself  afresh. 

Enid 

JANUARY  TWENTY-NINTH 

Ah  yet,  tho'  all  the  world  forsake, 

Tho'  fortune  clip  my  wings, 
I  will  not  cramp  my  heart,  nor  take 

Half-views  of  men  and  things. 

Will  Waterproof^s  Monologue 

JANUARY  THIRTIETH 

O  we  will  walk  this  world, 
Yoked  in  all  exercise  of  noble  end, 
And  so  thro'  those  dark  gates  across  the  wild 

That  no  man  knows. 

The  Princess 


[9] 


JANUARY  THIRTY-FIRST 

In  vain  shalt  thou,  or  any,  call 

The  spirits  from  their  golden  day, 
Except,  like  them,  thou  too  canst  say 

My  spirit  is  at  peace  with  all. 

They  haunt  the  silence  of  the  breast, 
Imaginations  calm  and  fair, 
The  memory  like  a  cloudless  air, 

The  conscience  as  a  sea  at  rest : 

But  when  the  heart  is  full  of  din, 

And  doubt  beside  the  portal  waits, 
They  can  but  listen  at  the  gates, 

And  hear  the  household  jar  within. 


In  Mcmoriam 


I    I0   ] 


FEBRUARY 

• 

FEBRUARY  FIRST 

WHEN  cats  run  home  and  light  is  come, 
And  dew  is  cold  upon  the  ground, 
And  the  far-off  stream  is  dumb, 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round, 
And  the  whirring  sail  goes  round ; 
Alone  and  warming  his  five  wits, 
The  white  owl  in  the  belfry  sits. 

The  White  Owl 

FEBRUARY  SECOND 

Every  day  hath  its  night: 
Every  night  its  morn  : 
Thorough  dark  and  bright 
Winged  hours  are  borne; 

Ah  !  welaway ! 
Seasons  flower  and  fade; 
Golden  calm  and  storm 

Mingle  day  by  day. 
There  is  no  bright  form 
Doth  not  cast  a  shade — 
Ah !  welaway ! 


FEBRUARY  THIRD 

God  gives  us  love.  Something  to  love 

He  lends  us ;  but,  when  love  is  grown 
To  ripeness,  that  on  which  it  throve 

Falls  off,  and  love  is  left  alone. 

To  J.  S. 

FEBRUARY  FOURTH 

Love  thou  thy  land,  with  love  far-brought 
From  out  the  storied  Past,  and  used 
Within  the  Present,  but  transfused 
Thro'  future  time  by  power  of  thought. 

"Love  Thou  'Thy  Land" 

FEBRUARY  FIFTH 

Self-reverence,  self-knowledge,  self-control, 
These  three  alone  lead  life  to  sovereign  power. 
Yet  not  for  power,  (power  of  herself 
Would  come  uncall'd  for,)  but  to  live  by  law, 
A6ling  the  law  we  live  by  without  fear; 
And,  because  right  is  right,  to  follow  right 

Were  wisdom  in  the  scorn  of  consequence. 

(Enone 

FEBRUARY  SIXTH 

What  good  should  follow  this,  if  this  were  done? 
What  harm,  undone?  deep  harm  to  disobey, 
Seeing  obedience  is  the  bond  of  rule. 
Were  it  well  to  obey  then,  if  a  king  demand 
An  a£l  unprofitable,  against  himself? 

Morte  D" Arthur 


FEBRUARY  SEVENTH 

Deliver  not  the  tasks  of  might  * 

To  weakness,  neither  hide  the  ray 
From  those,  not  blind,  who  wait  for  day, 

Tho'  sitting  girt  with  doubtful  light. 

"Love  Thou  Thy  Land" 
FEBRUARY  EIGHTH 

Not  in  vain  the  distance  beacons.  Forward,  for- 
ward let  us  range. 

Let  the  great  world  spin  for  ever  down  the  ring- 
ing grooves  of  change. 

Locksley  Hall 

FEBRUARY  NINTH 

Nothing  will  die; 
All  things  will  change 
Through  eternity. 

'Tis  the  world's  winter; 
Autumn  and  summer 

Are  gone  long  ago. 

Nothing  Will  Die 

FEBRUARY  TENTH 

All  thoughts,  all  creeds,  all  dreams  are  true, 

All  visions  wild  and  strange ; 
Man  is  the  measure  of  all  truth 

Unto  himself.  All  truth  is  change: 

All  men  do  walk  in  sleep,  and  all 
Have  faith  in  that  they  dream : 

[   13] 


For  all  things  are  as  they  seem  to  all, 
f        And  all  things  flow  like  a  stream. 

01  ptoires 

FEBRUARY  ELEVENTH 

My  name,  once  mine,  now  thine,  is  closelier 

mine, 
For  fame,  could  fame  be  mine,  that  fame  were 

thine, 

And  shame,  could  shame   be  thine,  that  shame 
were  mine. 

So  trust  me  not  at  all  or  all  in  all. 

Fvuien 

FEBRUARY  TWELFTH 

In  Love,  if  Love  be  Love,  if  Love  be  ours. 
Faith  and  unfaith  can  ne'er  be  equal  powers: 
Unfaith  in  aught  is  want  of  faith  in  all. 

It  is  the  little  rift  within  the  lute, 
That  by  and  by  will  make  the  music  mute, 
And  ever  widening  slowly  silence  all. 


Vivien 


FEBRUARY  THIRTEENTH 
"Thro'  slander,  meanest  spawn  of  Hell 

(And  women's  slander  is  the  worst), 
And  you,  whom  once  I  loved  so  well, 
Thro'  you,  my  life  will  be  accurst." 


I  spoke  with  heart,  and  heat  and  force, 

I  shook  her  breast  with  vague  alarms — 
Like  torrents  from  a  mountain  source 

We  rush'd  into  each  other's  arms. 

The  Letter* 

FEBRUARY  FOURTEENTH 

We  parted :  sweetly  gleam'd  the  stars, 
And  sweet  the  vapour-braided  blue, 
Low  breezes  fann'd  the  belfry  bars, 

As  homeward  by  the  church  I  drew. 
The  very  graves  appear'd  to  smile, 

So  fresh  they  rose  in  shadow'd  swells; 
"Dark  porch,"!  said, "and  silent  aisle, 

There  comes  a  sound  of  marriage  bells." 

The  Letters 

FEBRUARY  FIFTEENTH 

Love  took  up  the  glass  of  Time,  and  turn'd  it  in 

his  glowing  hands ; 
Every  moment,  lightly  shaken,  ran  itself  in  golden 

sands. 

Love  took  up  the  harp  of  Life,  and  smote  on  all 

the  chords  with  might; 
Smote  the  chord  of  Self,  that,  trembling,  pass'd  in 

music  out  of  sight. 

Lockiley  Hall 


I  '5  j 


FEBRUARY  SIXTEENTH 

All  precious  things,  discover'd  late, 
To  those  that  seek  them  issue  forth ; 

For  love  in  sequel  works  with  fate, 

And  draws  the  veil  from  hidden  worth. 

The  Day  Dream 

FEBRUARY  SEVENTEENTH 

What  is  that  which  I  should  turn  to,  lighting  upon 

days  like  these? 
Every  door  is  barr'd  with  gold,  and  opens  but  to 

golden  keys. 

Locksley  Hall 

FEBRUARY  EIGHTEENTH 

Cursed  be  the  social  wants  that  sin  against  the 

strength  of  youth  ! 
Cursed  be  the  social  lies  that  warp  us  from  the 

living  truth ! 

Cursed  be  the  sickly  forms  that  err  from  honest 
Nature's  rule ! 

Cursed  be  the  gold  that  gilds  the  straiten'd  fore- 
head of  the  fool ! 

Locksley  Hall 

FEBRUARY  NINETEENTH 

A  still  small  voice  spake  unto  me, 
"Thou  art  so  full  of  misery, 
Were  it  not  better  not  to  be?" 

[  '6  j 


Then  to  the  still  small  voice  I  said, 
"Let  me  not  cast  in  endless  shade 

What  is  so  wonderfully  made." 

The  Two  Voices 

FEBRUARY  TWENTIETH 

"If  all  be  dark,  vague  voice,"  I  said, 
"These  things  are  wrapt  in  doubt  and  dread, 
Nor  canst  thou  show  the  dead  are  dead. 

"The  sap  dries  up:  the  plant  declines. 
A  deeper  tale  my  heart  divines." 

The  T<uuo  Pokes 

FEBRUARY  TWENTY-FIRST 

Thou  wilt  not  leave  us  in  the  dust : 

Thou  madest  man,  he  knows  not  why ; 
He  thinks  he  was  not  made  to  die; 
And  thou  hast  made  him :  thou  art  just. 

In  Memoriam 

FEBRUARY  TWENTY-SECOND 

And  me  this  knowledge  bolder  made, 

Or  else  I  had  not  dared  to  flow 
In  these  words  toward  you,  and  invade 

Even  with  a  verse  your  holy  woe. 

'T  is  strange  that  those  we  lean  on  most, 

Those  in  whose  laps  our  limbs  are  nursed, 
Fall  into  shadow,  soonest  lost: 

Those  we  love  first  are  taken  first. 

To  J.  S. 

[   '7] 


FEBRUARY  TWENTY-THIRD 

Behold,  we  know  not  anything; 

I  can  but  trust  that  good  shall  fall 
At  last — far  off — at  last,  to  all, 

And  every  winter  change  to  spring. 

So  runs  my  dream :  but  what  am  I  ? 
An  infant  crying  in  the  night : 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light : 

And  with  no  language  but  a  cry. 

In  Memoriam 

FEBRUARY  TWENTY-FOURTH 

They  never  learned  to  love  who  never  knew  to 

weep. 

Love  and  Sorrow 

FEBRUARY  TWENTY-FIFTH 

"  Forward,  the  Light  Brigade ! " 
Was  there  a  man  dismay'd? 
Not  tho'  the  soldier  knew 

Some  one  had  blunder'd  : 
Their's  not  to  make  reply, 
Their's  not  to  reason  why, 
Their's  but  to  do  and  die, 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 

Rode  the  six  hundred. 

'The  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade 


[   18] 


FEBRUARY  TWENTY-SIXTH 

FcTr  once,  when  I  was  up  so  high  in  pride 
That  I  was  halfway  down  the  slope  to  Hell, 
By  overthrowing  me  you  threw  me  higher. 


FEBRUARY  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

"  Not  war,  if  possible, 

0  king,"  I  said,  "lest  from  the  abuse  of  war, 
The  desecrated  shrine,  the  trampled  year,     [flower 
The  smouldering  homestead,  and  the  household 
Torn  from  the  lintel — all  the  common  wrong  — 
A  smoke  go  up  thro'  which  I  loom  to  her 

Three  times  a  monster." 

The  Princes* 

FEBRUARY  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

But  the  jingling  of  the  guinea  helps  the  hurt  that 

Honour  feels, 
And  the  nations  do  but  murmur,  snarling  at  each 

other's  heels. 

Locksley  Hall 

FEBRUARY  TWENTY-NINTH 

Let  the  sweet  heavens  endure, 

Not  close  and  darken  above  me 
Before  I  am  quite  quite  sure 

That  there  is  one  to  love  me ; 
Then  let  come  what  come  may 
To  a  life  that  has  been  so  sad, 

1  shall  have  had  my  day. 

Maud 


MARCH 

•       • 
• 

MARCH  FIRST 

HE   spoke  among  you,  and   the   Man  who 
spoke ; 

Who  never  sold  the  truth  to  serve  the  hour, 
Nor  palter'd  with  Eternal  God  for  power; 
Who  let  the  turbid  streams  of  rumour  flow 
Thro'  either  babbling  world  of  high  and  low; 
Whose  life  was  work,  whose  language  rife 
With  rugged  maxims  hewn  from  life ; 
Who  never  spoke  against  a  foe  — 

Ode  on  the  Death  of  Wellington 

MARCH  SECOND 

The  path  of  duty  was  the  way  to  glory: 

He,  that  ever  following  her  commands, 

On  with  toil  of  heart  and  knees  and  hands, 

Thro'  the  long  gorge  to  the  far  light  has  won 

His  path  upward,  and  prevail'd, 

Shall  find  the  toppling  crags  of  Duty  scaled 

Are  close  upon  the  shining  table-lands 

To  which  our  God  Himself  is  moon  and  sun. 

Ode  on  the  Death  of  Wellington 


[«' 


MARCH  THIRD 

O  lift  your  natures  up : 

Embrace  our  aims :  work  out  your  freedom.  Girls. 
Knowledge  is  now  no  more  a  fountain  seal'd : 
Drink  deep,  until  the  habits  of  the  slave, 
The  sins  of  emptiness,  gossip  and  spite 
And  slander,  die.  Better  not  be  at  all 

Than  not  be  noble. 

The  Princess 

MARCH  FOURTH 

Like  men,  like  manners :  like  breeds  like,  they  say. 
Kind  nature  is  the  best :  those  manners  next 
That  fit  us  like  a  nature  second-hand  ; 
Which  are  indeed  the  manners  of  the  great. 

Walking  to  the  Mail 

MARCH  FIFTH 

Will  some  one  say,  then  why  not  ill  for  good  ? 
Why  took  ye  not  your  pastime?  To  that  man 
My  work  shall  answer,  since  I  knew  the  right 
And  did  it ;  for  a  man  is  not  as  God, 
But  then  most  Godlike  being  most  a  man. 

Love  and  Duty 

MARCH  SIXTH 

Henceforth  thou  hast  a  helper,  me,  that  know 
The  woman's  cause  is  man's :  they  rise  or  sink 
Together,  dwarf d  or  godlike,  bond  or  free : 
For  she  that  out  of  Lethe  scales  with  man 


The  shining  steps  of  Nature,  shares  with  man 
His  nights,  his  days,  moves  with  him  to  one  goal, 
Stays  all  the  fair  young  planet  in  her  hands — 
If  she  be  small,  slight-natured,  miserable, 
How  shall  men  grow  ? 


The  Princess 


MARCH  SEVENTH 

Sometimes  on  lonely  mountain-meres 

I  find  a  magic  bark ; 
I  leap  on  board  :  no  helmsman  steers: 

I  float  till  all  is  dark. 
A  gentle  sound,  an  awful  light ! 

Three  angels  bear  the  holy  Grail: 
With  folded  feet,  in  stoles  of  white, 

On  sleeping  wings  they  sail. 
Ah,  blessed  vision  !  blood  of  God  ! 

My  spirit  beats  her  mortal  bars, 
As  down  dark  tides  the  glory  slides, 

And  star-like  mingles  with  the  stars. 

Sir  Galahad 

MARCH  EIGHTH 

Thro'  the  shadow  of  the  globe  we  sweep  into  the 

younger  day : 

Better  fifty  years  of  Europe  than  a  cycle  of  Cathay. 

Locksley  Hall 

MARCH  NINTH 

For  the  drift  of  the  Maker  is  dark,  an  Isis  hid  by 
the  veil. 


Who  knows  the  ways  of  the  world,  how  God  will 

bring  them  about  ? 
Our  planet  is  one,  the  suns  are  many,  the  world 

is  wide. 
Shall  I  weep  if  a  Poland  fall?  shall  I  shriek  if  a 

Hungary  fail? 
Or  an  infant  civilization  be  ruled  with  rod  or  with 

knout  ? 
I  have  not  made  the  world,  and  He  that  made  it 

will  guide. 

Maud 

MARCH  TENTH 

Heaven  weeps  above  the  earth  all  night  till  morn, 
In  darkness  weeps,  as  all  ashamed  to  weep, 
Because  the  earth  hath  made  her  state  forlorn 
With  self-wrought  evils  of  unnumbered  years, 
And  doth  the  fruit  of  her  dishonour  reap. 
And  all  the  day  heaven  gathers  back  her  tears 
Into  her  own  blue  eyes  so  clear  and  deep, 
And  showering  down  the  glory  of  lightsome  day, 
Smiles  on  the  earth's  worn  brow  to  win  her  if  she 

may. 

The  Tears  of  Heaven 

MARCH  ELEVENTH 

O  thou,  new-year,  delaying  long, 

Delayest  the  sorrow  in  my  blood, 
That  longs  to  burst  a  frozen  bud, 

And  flood  a  fresher  throat  with  song. 

In  Memoriam 


MARCH  TWELFTH 
,  Knowledge  comes,   but  wisdom  lingers  and  he 

bears  a  laden  breast, 
Full  of  sad  experience,  moving  toward  the  stillness 

of  his  rest. 

Locksley  Hall 

MARCH  THIRTEENTH 

Yet  I  doubt  not  thro'  the  ages  one  increasing  pur- 
pose runs, 
And  the  thoughts  of  men  are  widen'd  with  the 

process  of  the  suns. 

Locksley  Hall 

MARCH  FOURTEENTH 

Think  you  this  mould  of  hopes  and  fears 
Could  find  no  statelier  than  his  peers 

In  yonder  hundred  million  spheres  ? 

The  Tnvo  Voice* 

MARCH  FIFTEENTH 

Would  that  my  gloomed  fancy  were 

'As  thine,  my  mother,  when  with  brows 

Propped  on  thy  knees,  my  hands  upheld 

In  thine,  I  listened  to  thy  vows, 

For  me  outpoured  in  holiest  prayer  — 

For  me  unworthy! — and  beheld 

Thy  mild  deep  eyes  upraised,  that  knew 

The  beauty  and  repose  of  faith, 

And  the  clear  spirit  shining  through. 

Oh  !  wherefore  do  we  grow  awry — 

From  toots  which  strike  so  deep? 

[25]  Supposed  Confessions 


MARCH  SIXTEENTH 

But  help  me,  heaven,  for  surely  I  repent. 
For  what  is  true  repentance  but  in  thought  — 
Not  ev'n  in  inmost  thought  to  think  again 
The  sins  that  made  the  past  so  pleasant  to  us : 
And  I  have  sworn  never  to  see  him  more, 

To  see  him  more. 

Guinevere 

MARCH  SEVENTEENTH 

The  little  rift  within  the  lover's  lute, 
Or  little  pitted  speck  in  garner'd  fruit, 

That  rotting  inward  slowly  moulders  all. 

Vivien 

MARCH  EIGHTEENTH 

Comfort  ?  comfort  scorn'd  of  devils !  this  is  truth 

the  poet  sings, 
That  a  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  is  remembering 

happier  things. 

Drug  thy  memories,  lest  thou  learn  it,  lest  thy 

heart  be  put  to  proof, 
In  the  dead  unhappy  night,  and  when  the  rain  is 

on  the  roof. 

Locksley  Hall 

MARCH  NINETEENTH 

I  remember  one  that   perish'd  :  sweetly  did  she 

speak  and  move : 
Such  a  one  do  I  remember,  whom  to  look  at  was 

to  love. 

[26] 


Can  I  think  of  her  as  dead,  and  love  her  for  the 

love  she  bore  ? 
No — she  never  loved  me  truly :  love  is  love  for 

evermore. 

Locksley  Hall 

MARCH  TWENTIETH 

What  words  are  these  have  fall'n  from  me? 

Can  calm  despair  and  wild  unrest 

Be  tenants  of  a  single  breast, 
Or  sorrow  such  a  changeling  be? 

Or  doth  she  only  seem  to  take 

The  touch  of  change  in  calm  or  storm  ; 

But  knows  no  more  of  transient  form 
In  her  deep  self,  than  some  dead  lake 


That  holds  the  shadow  of  a  lark 

Hung  in  the  shadow  of  a  heaven  ? 


In  Memoriam 


MARCH  TWENTY-FIRST 

'Twere  better  not  to  breathe  or  speak, 
Than  cry  for  strength,  remaining  weak, 
And  seem  to  find,  but  still  to  seek. 

Moreover,  but  to  seem  to  find 

Asks  what  thou  lackest,  thought  resign'd, 

A  healthy  frame,  a  quiet  mind. 


The  Two  Voices 


MARCH  TWENTY-SECOND 

Deep  on  the  convent-roof  the  snows 

Are  sparkling  to  the  moon  : 
My  breath  to  heaven  like  vapour  goes: 

May  my  soul  follow  soon  ! 
The  shadows  of  the  convent-towers 

Slant  down  the  snowy  sward, 
Still  creeping  with  the  creeping  hours 

That  lead  me  to  my  Lord : 
Make  Thou  my  spirit  pure  and  clear 

As  are  the  frosty  skies, 
Or  this  first  snowdrop  of  the  year 

That  in  my  bosom  lies. 

St.  Agnes'  Eve 

MARCH  TWENTY-THIRD 

I  dream'd  there  would  be  Spring  no  more, 
That  Nature's  ancient  power  was  lost : 
The  streets  were  black  with  smoke  and  frost, 

They  chatter'd  trifles  at  the  door. 

In  Memoriam 

MARCH  TWENTY-FOURTH 

Strong  Son  of  God,  immortal  Love, 

Whom  we,  that  have  not  seen  thy  face, 
By  faith,  and  faith  alone,  embrace, 

Believing  where  we  cannot  prove; 

Thine  are  these  orbs  of  light  and  shade ; 
Thou  madest  Life  in  man  and  brute; 

[28] 


Thou  madest  Death ;  and  lo,  thy  foot 
Is  on  the  skull  which  thou  hast  made. 

In  Memoriam 

MARCH  TWENTY-FIFTH 

Night  slid  down  one  long  stream  of  sighing  wind, 
And  in  her  bosom  bore  the  baby,  Sleep. 

The  Gardener's  Daughter 

MARCH  TWENTY-SIXTH 

Shall  we  not  look  into  the  laws 

Of  life  and  death,  and  things  that  seem, 

And  things  that  be,  and  analyze 

Our  double  nature,  and  compare 

All  creeds  till  we  have  found  the  one, 

If  one  there  be? 

Supposed  Confessions 

MARCH  TWENTY-SEVENTH 
It  is  man's  privilege  to  doubt, 
If  so  be  that  from  doubt  at  length, 
Truth  may  stand  forth  unmoved  of  change, 
An  image  with  profulgent  brows, 
And  perfect  limbs,  as  from  the  storm 
Of  running  fires  and  fluid  range 
Of  lawless  airs,  at  last  stood  out 
This  excellence  and  solid  form 

Of  constant  beauty. 

Supposed  Confessions 


09] 


MARCH  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

He  fought  his  doubts  and  gather'd  strength, 
He  would  not  make  his  judgement  blind, 
He  faced  the  speclres  of  the  mind 

And  laid  them :  thus  he  came  at  length 

To  find  a  stronger  faith  his  own ; 

And  Power  was  with  him  in  the  night, 
Which  makes  the  darkness  and  the  light, 

And  dwells  not  in  the  light  alone. 

In  Memoriam 

MARCH  TWENTY-NINTH 

Altho'  I  be  the  basest  of  mankind, 

From  scalp  to  sole  one  slough  and  crust  of  sin, 

Unfit  for  earth,  unfit  for  heaven,  scarce  meet 

For  troops  of  devils,  mad  with  blasphemy, 

I  will  not  cease  to  grasp  the  hope  I  hold 

Of  saintdom,  and  to  clamour,  mourn  and  sob, 

Battering  the  gates  of  heaven  with  storms  of  prayer, 

Have  mercy,  Lord,  and  take  away  my  sin. 

St.  Simeon  Stylites 

MARCH  THIRTIETH 

And  all  is  well,  tho'  faith  and  form 
Be  sunder'd  in  the  night  of  fear; 
Well  roars  the  storm  to  those  that  hear 

A  deeper  voice  across  the  storm. 


In  Memoriam 


[30] 


MARCH  THIRTY-FIRST 

When  rosy  plumelets  tuft  the  larch, 

And  rarely  pipes  the  mounted  thrush ; 

Or  underneath  the  barren  bush 
Flits  by  the  sea-blue  bird  of  March. 


In  Memoriam 


[31] 


APRIL 

APRIL  FIRST 

TAKE  warning!  he  that  will  not  sing 
While  yon  sun  prospers  in  the  blue, 
Shall  sing  for  want,  ere  leaves  are  new, 

Caught  in  the  frozen  palms  of  Spring. 

The  Blackbird 

APRIL  SECOND 

I  am  any  man's  suitor, 

If  any  will  be  my  tutor: 
Some  say  this  life  is  pleasant, 

Some  think  it  speedeth  fast: 
In  time  there  is  no  present, 

In  eternity  no  future, 

In  eternity  no  past. 

We  laugh,  we  cry,  we  are  born,  we  die, 
Who  will  riddle  me  the  how  and  the  why? 

The  «//ow"  and  the  "Why" 
APRIL  THIRD 

The  fresh-flushing  springtime  calls 

To  the  flooding  waters  cool, 

Young  fishes,  on  an  April  morn, 

Up  and  down  a  rapid  river, 

Leap  the  little  waterfalls 

That  sing  into  the  pebbled  pool.  „     ,.   , 

[33] 


APRIL  FOURTH 

So  many  worlds,  so  much  to  do, 

So  little  done,  such  things  to  be, 
How  know  I  what  had  need  of  thee, 
For  thou  wert  strong  as  thou  wert  true  ? 

In  Memoriam 


APRIL  FIFTH 

Rise,  happy  morn,  rise,  holy  morn, 

Draw  forth  the  cheerful  day  from  night : 
O  Father,  touch  the  east,  and  light 

The  light  that  shone  when  Hope  was  born. 

In  Memoriam 


APRIL  SIXTH 

Do  we  indeed  desire  the  dead 

Should  still  be  near  us  at  our  side  ? 
Is  there  no  baseness  we  would  hide? 

No  inner  vileness  that  we  dread  ? 

Shall  he  for  whose  applause  I  strove, 

I  had  such  reverence  for  his  blame, 
See  with  clear  eye  some  hidden  shame 

And  I  be  lessen 'd  in  his  love? 

In  Memoriam 


[34] 


APRIL  SEVENTH 

Morn  in  the  white  wake  of  the  morning  star 
Came  furrowing  all  the  orient  into  gold. 

The  Princesi 


APRIL  EIGHTH 

Like  souls  that  balance  joy  and  pain, 
With  tears  and  smiles  from  heaven  again 
The  maiden  Spring  upon  the  plain 
Came  in  a  sunlit  fall  of  rain. 

In  crystal  vapour  everywhere 
Blue  isles  of  heaven  laugh'd  between, 
And,  far  in  forest-deeps  unseen, 
The  topmost  elm-tree  gather'd  green 

From  draughts  of  balmy  air. 

Sir  Launcelot  and  <%ueen  Guinevere 

APRIL  NINTH 

Now  fades  the  last  long  streak  of  snow, 
Now  burgeons  every  maze  of  quick 
About  the  flowering  squares,  and  thick 

By  ashen  roots  the  violets  blow. 

Now  rings  the  woodland  loud  and  long, 
The  distance  takes  a  lovelier  hue, 
And  drown'd  in  yonder  living  blue 

The  lark  becomes  a  sightless  song. 

In  Memoriam 

(  35] 


APRIL  TENTH 

Earth  is  dry  to  the  centre, 
But  spring,  a  new  comer, 
A  spring  rich  and  strange, 

Shall  make  the  winds  blow 
Round  and  round, 

Through  and  through, 
Here  and  there, 
Till  the  air 
And  the  ground 

Shall  be  filled  with  life  anew. 

Nothing  Will  Die 

APRIL  ELEVENTH 

O  sweet  and  strange  it  seems  to  me,  that  ere  this 

day  is  done 
The  voice,  that  now  is  speaking,  may  be  beyond 

the  sun  — 
For  ever  and  for  ever  with  those  just  souls  and 

true  — 
And  what  is  life,  that  we  should  moan  ?  why  make 

we  such  ado? 

'The  May  Queen 

APRIL  TWELFTH 

Our  voices  took  a  higher  range ; 

Once  more  we  sang:  "They  do  not  die 
Nor  lose  their  mortal  sympathy, 

Nor  change  to  us,  although  they  change." 

In  Memoriam 

[36] 


APRIL  THIRTEENTH 

Courage,  St.  Simeon !  This  dull  chrysalis 
Cracks  into  shining  wings,  and  hope  ere  death 
Spreads  more  and  more  and  more,  that  God  hath 

now 
Sponged  and  made  blank  of  crimeful  record  all 

My  mortal  archives. 

St.  Simeon  Stylites 

APRIL  FOURTEENTH 

O  well  for  him  whose  will  is  strong ! 

He  suffers,  but  he  will  not  suffer  long ; 

He  suffers,  but  he  cannot  suffer  wrong : 

For  him  nor  moves  the  loud  world's  random  mock, 

Nor  all  Calamity's  hugest  waves  confound, 

Who  seems  a  promontory  of  rock, 

That,  compass'd  round  with  turbulent  sound, 

In  middle  ocean  meets  the  surging  shock, 

Tempest-buffeted,  citadel-crown'd. 

mil 

APRIL  FIFTEENTH 

But  ill  for  him  who,  bettering  not  with  time, 

Corrupts  the  strength  of  heaven-descended  Will, 

And  ever  weaker  grows  thro'  afted  crime, 

Or  seeming-genial  venial  fault, 

Recurring  and  suggesting  still ! 

He  seems  as  one  whose  footsteps  halt, 

Toiling  in  immeasurable  sand, 


[  37] 


And  o'er  a  weary  sultry  land, 

Far  beneath  a  blazing  vault, 

Sown  in  a  wrinkle  of  the  monstrous  hill, 

The  city  sparkles  like  a  grain  of  salt. 


mil 


APRIL  SIXTEENTH 

A  love  still  burning  upward,  giving  light 
To  read  those  laws;  an  accent  very  low 
In  blandishment,  but  a  most  silver  flow 
Of  subtle-paced  counsel  in  distress, 
Right  to  the  heart  and  brain,  tho'  undescried, 

Winning  its  way  with  extreme  gentleness 
Thro'  all  the  outworks  of  suspicious  pride ; 
A  courage  to  endure  and  to  obey; 
A  hate  of  gossip  parlance,  and  of  sway, 
Crown'd  Isabel,  thro'  all  her  placid  life, 
The  queen  of  marriage,  a  most  perfe6t  wife. 

Isabel 
APRIL  SEVENTEENTH 

For  woman  is  not  undevelopt  man, 

But  diverse :  could  we  make  her  as  the  man, 

Sweet  love  were  slain :  his  dearest  bond  is  this, 

Not  like  to  like,  but  like  in  difference. 

The  Princess 

APRIL  EIGHTEENTH 

Most  blameless  is  he,  centred  in  the  sphere 
Of  common  duties,  decent  not  to  fail 
In  offices  of  tenderness,  and  pay 

Meet  adoration  to  my  household  gods. 

Ulysses 
[38] 


APRJL  NINETEENTH 

The  wish,  that  of  the  living  whole 

No  life  may  fail  beyond  the  grave; 
Derives  it  not  from  what  we  have 

The  likest  God  within  the  soul? 

In  Memoriam 

APRIL  TWENTIETH 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

I  know  you  proud  to  bear  your  name, 
Your  pride  is  yet  no  mate  for  mine, 

Too  proud  to  care  from  whence  I  came. 
Nor  would  I  break  for  your  sweet  sake 

A  heart  that  doats  on  truer  charms. 
A  simple  maiden  in  her  flower 

Is  worth  a  hundred  coats-of-arms. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere 

APRIL  TWENTY-FIRST 

So  dark  a  mind  within  me  dwells, 

And  I  make  myself  such  evil  cheer, 
That  if  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else, 

Then  some  one  else  may  have  much  to  fear, 
But  if  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else, 

Then  I  should  be  to  myself  more  dear. 
Shall  I  not  take  care  of  all  that  I  think, 
Yea  ev'n  of  wretched  meat  and  drink, 
If  I  be  dear, 

If  I  be  dear  to  some  one  else. 

Maud 

[39] 


APRIL  TWENTY-SECOND 

"What  is  it  thou  knowest,  sweet  voice?"  I  cried. 
"A  hidden  hope,"  the  voice  replied: 

So  heavenly-toned,  that  in  that  hour 
From  out  my  sullen  heart  a  power 
Broke,  like  the  rainbow  from  the  shower, 

To  feel,  altho'  no  tongue  can  prove, 
That  every  cloud,  that  spreads  above 

And  veileth  love,  itself  is  love. 

The  T'-wo  Voices 


APRIL  TWENTY-THIRD 

Cry,  faint  not  :  either  Truth  is  born 
Beyond  the  polar  gleam  forlorn, 

Or  in  the  gateways  of  the  morn. 

The  Two  Voices 

APRIL  TWENTY-FOURTH 

Dip  down  upon  the  northern  shore, 

O  sweet  new-year  delaying  long; 

Thou  doest  expedtant  nature  wrong  ; 
Delaying  long,  delay  no  more. 

What  stays  thee  from  the  clouded  noons, 
Thy  sweetness  from  its  proper  place? 
Can  trouble  live  with  April  days, 

Or  sadness  in  the  summer  moons? 

In  Memoriam 

[40] 


APRIL  TWENTY-FIFTH 

The  path  by  which  we  twain  did  go, 

Which  led  by  tradts  that  pleased  us  well, 
Thro'  four  sweet  years  arose  and  fell, 
From  flower  to  flower,  from  snow  to  snow : 

And  we  with  singing  cheer'd  the  way, 

And  crown'd  with  all  the  season  lent, 
From  April  on  to  April  went, 

And  glad  at  heart  from  May  to  May. 

In  Memoriam 

APRIL  TWENTY-SIXTH 

Who  can  say 

Why  To-day 
To-morrow  will  be  yesterday? 

Who  can  tell 

Why  to  smell 

The  violet,  recalls  the  dewy  prime 
Of  youth  and  buried  time? 

The  cause  is  nowhere  found  in  rhyme. 

Song 

APRIL  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

The  smell  of  violets,  hidden  in  the  green, 

Pour'd  back  into  my  empty  soul  and  frame 
The  times  when  I  remember  to  have  been 

Joyful  and  free  from  blame. 

A  Dream  of  Fair  Women 


APRIL  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

Is  it,  then,  regret  for  buried  time 

That  keenlier  in  sweet  April  wakes, 
And  meets  the  year,  and  gives  and  takes 

The  colours  of  the  crescent  prime  ? 

Not  all :  the  songs,  the  stirring  air, 
The  life  re-orient  out  of  dust, 
Cry  thro'  the  sense  to  hearten  trust 

In  that  which  made  the  world  so  fair. 

In  Memoriam 

APRIL  TWENTY-NINTH 

In  the  Spring  a  fuller  crimson  comes  upon  the 
robin's  breast ; 

In  the  Spring  the  wanton  lapwing  gets  himself  an- 
other crest ; 

In  the  Spring  a  livelier  iris  changes  on  the  bur- 

nish'd  dove ; 
In  the  Spring  a  young  man's  fancy  lightly  turns 

to  thoughts  of  love. 

Locksley  Hall 

APRIL  THIRTIETH 

You  must  wake  and  call  me  early,  call  me  early, 

mother  dear ; 
To-morrow  'ill  be  the  happiest  time  of  all  the  glad 

New-year ; 


Of  all  the  glad  New-year,  mother,  the  maddest 

merriest  day ; 
For  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I'm  to 

be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

The  May  Queen 


[  43  J 


)     ^v*v  / 

MAY 


MAY  FIRST 

THE  night-winds  come  and  go,  mother,  upon 
the  meadow-grass, 
And  the  happy  stars  above  them  seem  to  brighten 

as  they  pass ; 
There  will  not  be  a  drop  of  rain  the  whole  of  the 

live-long  day, 
And  I'm  to  be  Queen  o'  the  May,  mother,  I'm 

to  be  Queen  o'  the  May. 

The  May  Queen 

MAY  SECOND 

Fair  year,  with  brows  of  royal  love 

Thou  comest,  as  a  king. 
All  in  the  bloomed  May. 
Thy  golden  largess  fling, 
And  longer  hear  us  sing; 
Though  thou  art  fleet  of  wing, 

Yet  stay. 
Alas !  that  eyes  so  full  of  light 

Should  be  so  wandering ! 

Song 


I  45] 


MAY  THIRD 

Bring  orchis,  bring  the  foxglove  spire, 
The  little  speedwell's  darling  blue, 
Deep  tulips  dash'd  with  fiery  dew, 

Laburnums,  dropping- wells  of  fire. 

In  Memoriam 

MAY  FOURTH 

The  path  of  duty  was  the  way  to  glory : 
He  that  walks  it,  only  thirsting 
For  the  right,  and  learns  to  deaden 
Love  of  self,  before  his  journey  closes, 
He  shall  find  the  stubborn  thistle  bursting 
Into  glossy  purples,  which  outredden 
All  voluptuous  garden-roses. 

Ode  on  the  Death  of  Wellington 

MAY  FIFTH 

And  I  must  work  thro'  months  of  toil, 

And  years  of  cultivation, 
Upon  my  proper  patch  of  soil 

To  grow  my  own  plantation. 
I'll  take  the  showers  as  they  fall, 

I  will  not  vex  my  bosom  : 
Enough  if  at  the  end  of  all 

A  little  garden  blossom. 

Amphion 

MAY  SIXTH 

I  wonder'd,  while  I  paced  along : 

The  woods  were  fill'd  so  full  with  song, 

There  seem'd  no  room  for  sense  of  wrong. 


So  variously  seem'd  all  things  wrought, 
I  marvell'd  how  the  mind  was  brought 
Xo  anchor  by  one  gloomy  thought. 

"The  Two  Voice* 

MAY  SEVENTH 

The  varying  year  with  blade  and  sheaf 
Clothes  and  reclothes  the  happy  plains; 

Here  rests  the  sap  within  the  leaf, 
Here  stays  the  blood  along  the  veins. 

Faint  shadows,  vapours  lightly  curl'd, 

Faint  murmurs  from  the  meadows  come, 

Like  hints  and  echoes  of  the  world 

To  spirits  folded  in  the  womb. 

The  Day-Dream 

MAY  EIGHTH 

A  million  emeralds  break  from  the  ruby-budded 
lime 

In  the  little  grove  where  I  sit — ah,  wherefore  can- 
not I  be 

Like  things  of  the  season  gay,  like  the  bountiful 
season  bland, 

When  the  far-off  sail  is  blown  by  the  breeze  of 
a  softer  clime, 

Half-lost  in  the  liquid  azure  bloom  of  a  crescent 
of  sea, 

The  silent  sapphire-spangled  marriage  ring  of  the 

land? 

Maud 

[47] 


MAY  NINTH 

All  the  land  in  flowery  squares, 
Beneath  a  broad  and  equal-blowing  wind, 
Smelt  of  the  coming  summer,  as  one  large  cloud 
Drew  downward  :  but  all  else  of  Heaven  was  pure 
Up  to  the  Sun,  and  May  from  verge  to  verge, 
And  May  with  me  from  head  to  heel. 

The  Gardeners  Daughter 

MAY  TENTH 

Many  a  morning  on  the  moorland  did  we  hear 

the  copses  ring, 

And  her  whisper  throng'd  my  pulses  with  the  full- 
ness of  the  Spring. 

Locksley  Hall 

MAY  ELEVENTH 

Mine  be  the  strength  of  spirit  fierce  and  free, 
Like  some  broad  river  rushing  down  alone, 
With   the   selfsame   impulse   wherewith   he   was 

thrown 

From  his  loud  fount  upon  the  echoing  lea:  — 
Which  with  increasing  might  doth  forward  flee 
By  town,  and  tower,  and  hill,  and  cape,  and  isle, 
And  in  the  middle  of  the  green  salt  sea 
Keeps  his  blue  waters  fresh  for  many  a  mile. 

Sonnet 


MAY  TWELFTH 

Mine  be  the  Power  which  ever  to  its  sway 
Will  win  the  wise  at  once,  and  by  degrees 
May  into  uncongenial  spirits  flow; 
Even  as  the  great  gulfstream  of  Florida 
Floats  far  away  into  the  Northern  seas 
The  lavish  growths  of  southern  Mexico.        _ 

MAY  THIRTEENTH 

Clearly  the  blue  river  chimes  in  its  flowing 

Under  my  eye ; 
Warmly  and  broadly  the  south  winds  are  blowing 

Over  the  sky. 

One  after  another  the  white  clouds  are  Meeting; 
Every  heart  this  May  morning  in  joyance  is  beat- 
Full  merrily;  [ing 
Yet  all  things  must  die. 
The  stream  will  cease  to  flow ; 
The  wind  will  cease  to  blow; 
The  clouds  will  cease  to  fleet ; 
The  heart  will  cease  to  beat; 

For  all  things  must  die.          .„  ^L.       „,.„  p.. 

All  Things  Will  Die 

MAY  FOURTEENTH 

Oh  teach  me  yet 
Somewhat  before  the  heavy  clod 
Weighs  on  me,  and  the  busy  fret 
Of  that  sharp-headed  worm  begins 
In  the  gross  blackness  underneath. 

r          -i  Supposed  Confessions 


MAY  FIFTEENTH 

My  own  dim  life  should  teach  me  this, 
That  life  shall  live  for  evermore, 
Else  earth  is  darkness  at  the  core, 

And  dust  and  ashes  all  that  is. 

In  Memonam 

MAY  SIXTEENTH 

Sleep  sweetly,  tender  heart,  in  peace: 

Sleep,  holy  spirit,  blessed  soul, 
While  the  stars  burn,  the  moons  increase, 

And  the  great  ages  onward  roll. 

Sleep  till  the  end,  true  soul  and  sweet. 

Nothing  comes  to  thee  new  or  strange. 
blceo  full  of  rest  from  head  to  feet; 

Lie  still,  dry  oust,  secure  of  change. 

To  J.  S 

MAY  SEVENTEENTH 

We  are  puppets,  Man  in  his  pride,  and  Beauty 
fair  in  her  flower  ; 

Do  we  move  ourselves,  or  are  moved  by  an  un- 
seen hand  at  a  game 

That  pushes  us  off  from  the  board,  and  others  ever 
succeed  ? 

Ah  yet,  we  cannot  be  kind  to  each  other  here  for 
an  hour ; 

We  whisper,  and  hint,  and  chuckle,  and  grin  at  a 
brother's  shame ; 

However  we  brave  it  out,  we  men  are  a  little  breed. 

[-  50  j  Maud 


MAY  EIGHTEENTH 

And  the  parson  made  it  his  text  that  week,  and 
he  said  likewise, 

That  a  lie  which  is  half  a  truth  is  ever  the  black- 
est of  lies, 

That  a  lie  which  is  all  a  lie  may  be  met  and  fought 
with  outright, 

But  a  lie  which  is  part  a  truth  is  a  harder  matter 

to  fight. 

The  Grandmother  s  Apology 


MAY  NINETEENTH 

Arise,  my  God,  and  strike,  for  we  hold  Thee  just, 
Strike  dead  the  whole  weak  race  of  venomous 

worms, 
That  sting  each  other  here  in  the  dust; 

We  are  not  worthy  to  live. 

Maud 


MAY  TWENTIETH 

These  are  slanders :  never  yet 
Was  noble  man  but  made  ignoble  talk. 


Elaine 


MAY  TWENTY-FIRST 

Thy  leaf  has  perish'd  in  the  green, 

And,  while  we  breathe  beneath  the  sun, 
The  world  which  credits  what  is  done 

Is  cold  to  all  that  might  have  been. 


So  here  shall  silence  guard  thy  fame ; 

But  somewhere,  out  of  human  view, 
Whate'er  thy  hands  are  set  to  do 

Is  wrought  with  tumult  of  acclaim.       ,    . . 

In  Memonam 

MAY  TWENTY-SECOND 

Ah!  my  Lord  Arthur,  whither  shall  I  go? 
Where  shall  I  hide  my  forehead  and  my  eyes? 
For  now  I  see  the  true  old  times  are  dead, 
When  every  morning  brought  a  noble  chance, 
And  every  chance  brought  out  a  noble  knight. 
Such  times  have  been  not  since  the  light  that  led 
The  holy  Elders  with  the  gift  of  myrrh. 
But  now  the  whole  ROUND  TABLE  is  dissolved 
Which  was  an  image  of  the  mighty  world ; 
And  I,  the  last,  go  forth  companionless, 
And  the  days  darken  round  me,  and  the  years, 
Among  new  men,  strange  faces,  other  minds. 

Morte  D' Arthur 
MAY  TWENTY-THIRD 

How  dull  it  is  to  pause,  to  make  an  end, 
To  rust  unburnish'd,  not  to  shine  in  use ! 
As  tho'  to  breathe  were  life. 


Ulysses 


MAY  TWENTY-FOURTH 

Meet  is  it  changes  should  control 

Our  being,  -lest  we  rust  in  ease. 

We  all  are  changed  by  still  degrees, 
All  but  the  basis  of  the  soul. 


"Love  Thou  Thy  Land" 
[  5*  ] 


MAY  TWENTY-FIFTH 

Where  she,  who  kept  a  tender  Christian  hope 
Haunting  a  holy  text,  and  still  to  that 
Returning,  as  the  bird  returns,  at  night, 
"Let  not  the  sun  go  down  upon  your  wrath," 
Said,  "Love,  forgive  him:"  but  he  did  not  speak; 
And  silenced  by  that  silence  lay  the  wife, 
Remembering  our  dear  Lord  who  died  for  all, 
And  musing  on  the  little  lives  of  men, 
And  how  they  mar  this  little  by  their  feuds. 

Sea  Dreams 

MAY  TWENTY-SIXTH 

The  little  hearts  that  know  not  how  to  forgive. 

Maud 

MAY  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

For  mockery  is  the  fume  of  little  hearts. 
And  blessed  be  the  King,  who  hath  forgiven 
My  wickedness  to  him,  and  left  me  hope 
That  in  mine  own  heart  I  can  live  down  sin 
And  be  his  mate  hereafter  in  the  heavens 

Before  high  God. 

Guinevere 

MAY  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

Cry,  faint  not,  climb :  the  summits  slope 
Beyond  the  furthest  flights  of  hope, 
Wrapt  in  dense  cloud  from  base  to  cope. 

The  Two  Voices 

[53] 


MAY  TWENTY-NINTH 

Yet  all  experience  is  an  arch  wherethro', 
Gleams  that  untravell'd  world,  whose  margin  fades 

Forever  and  forever  when  I  move. 

Ulysses 

MAY  THIRTIETH 

•"Dead  ?  he  ?  of  heart-disease  ?  what  heart  had  he 
To  die  of?  dead!" 

"Ah,  dearest,  if  there  be 
A  devil  in  man,  there  is  an  angel  too, 
And  if  he  did  that  wrong  you  charge  him  with, 

His  angel  broke  his  heart." 

Sea  Dreams 

MAY  THIRTY-FIRST 

Ay  me  !  I  fear 

All  may  not  doubt,  but  everywhere 
Some  must  clasp  Idols.  Yet,  my  God, 
Whom  call  I  Idol?  Let  thy  dove 
Shadow  me  over,  and  my  sins 
Be  unremembered,  and  thy  love 

Enlighten  me. 

Supposed  Confessions 


[54] 


JUNE 

•      • 
• 

JUNE  FIRST 

SWEET  after  showers,  ambrosial  air, 
That  rollest  from  the  gorgeous  gloom 
Of  evening  over  brake  and  bloom 
And  meadow,  slowly  breathing  bare 

The  round  of  space,  and  rapt  below 
Thro'  all  the  dewy-tassell'd  wood, 
And  shadowing  down  the  horned  flood 

In  ripples,  fan  my  brows  and  blow 

The  fever  from  my  cheek,  and  sigh 

The  full  new  life  that  feeds  thy  breath 
Throughout  my  frame,  till  Doubt  and  Death, 

111  brethren,  let  the  fancy  fly 

From  belt  to  belt  of  crimson  seas 

On  leagues  of  odour  streaming  far, 
To  where  in  yonder  orient  star 

A  hundred  spirits  whisper  "Peace." 

///  Memoriam 


[55] 


JUNE  SECOND 

But  any  man  that  walks  the  mead, 

In  bud  or  blade,  or  bloom,  may  find, 
According  as  his  humours  lead, 

A  meaning  suited  to  his  mind. 

The  Day-Dream 

JUNE  THIRD 

Sometimes  a  little  corner  shines, 

As  over  rainy  mist  inclines 

A  gleaming  crag  with  belts  of  pines. 

The  Two  Volcet 

JUNE  FOURTH 

The  swallow  stopt  as  he  hunted  the  bee, 

The  snake  slipt  under  a  spray, 
The  wild  hawk  stood  with  the  down  on  his  beak, 

And  stared,  with  his  foot  on  the  prey, 
And  the  nightingale  thought,  "I  have  sung  many 
songs, 

But  never  a  one  so  gay, 
For  he  sings  of  what  the  world  will  be 

When  the  years  have  died  away." 

The  Poefs  Song 

JUNE  FIFTH 

Sometimes  the  linnet  piped  his  song: 
Sometimes  the  throstle  whistled  strong: 
Sometimes  the  sparhawk,  wheel'd  along, 
Hush'd  all  the  groves  from  fear  of  wrong: 
By  grassy  capes  with  fuller  sound 
[  56] 


In  curves  the  yellowing  river  ran, 
And  drooping  chestnut-buds  began 
To  spread  into  the  perfedt  fan, 
Above  the  teeming  ground. 

Sir  Launcelot  and  Queen  Guinevere 

JUNE  SIXTH 

As  she  fled  fast  thro'  sun  and  shade, 
The  happy  winds  upon  her  play'd, 
Blowing  the  ringlet  from  the  braid  : 
She  look'd  so  lovely,  as  she  sway'd 

The  rein  with  dainty  finger-tips, 
A  man  had  given  all  other  bliss, 
And  all  his  worldly  worth  for  this, 
To  waste  his  whole  heart  in  one  kiss 

Upon  her  perfect  lips. 

Sir  Launctlot  and  Queen  Guinci-tre 

JUNE  SEVENTH 

The  slow  sweet  hours  that  bring  us  all  things  good, 
The  slow  sad  hours  that  bring  us  all  things  ill, 
And  all  good  things  from  evil,  brought  the  night. 

Lo<vc  and  Duty 

JUNE  EIGHTH 

And  Eustace  turn'd,  and  smiling  said  to  me, 
"Hear  how  the  bushes  echo!  by  my  life, 
These  birds  have  joyful  thoughts.  Think  you  they 
sing 

[  57] 


Like  poets,  from  the  vanity  of  song? 

Or  have  they  any  sense  of  why  they  sing? 

And  would  they  praise  the  heavens  for  what  they 

have  ?" 

The  Gardeners  Daughter 

JUNE  NINTH 

And  I  made  answer,  "Were  there  nothing  else 
For  which  to  praise  the  heavens  but  only  love, 
That  only  love  were  cause  enough  for  praise." 

The  Gardener 's  Daughter 

JUNE  TENTH 

She  sleeps:  her  breathings  are  not  heard 

In  palace  chambers  far  apart. 
The  fragrant  tresses  are  not  stirr'd 

That  lie  upon  her  charmed  heart. 
She  sleeps :  on  either  hand  upswells 

The  gold-fringed  pillow  lightly  prest : 
She  sleeps,  nor  dreams,  but  ever  dwells 

A  perfedl  form  in  perfedt  rest.       _..    _ 

The  Day-Dream 

JUNE  ELEVENTH 
"O  eyes  long  laid  in  happy  sleep!" 

"O  happy  sleep,  that  lightly  fled  !" 
"O  happy  kiss,  that  woke  thy  sleep!" 

"O  love,  thy  kiss  would  wake  the  dead  !" 
And  o'er  them  many  a  flowing  range 

Of  vapour  buoy'd  the  crescent-bark, 
And,  rapt  thro'  many  a  rosy  change, 

The  twilight  died  into  the  dark.     _., 

The  Day-Dream 

[    58] 


JUNE  TWELFTH 

And  on  her  lover's  arm  she  leant, 

And  round  her  waist  she  felt  it  fold, 
And  far  across  the  hills  they  went 

In  that  new  world  which  is  the  old : 
Across  the  hills,  and  far  away 

Beyond  their  utmost  purple  rim, 
And  deep  into  the  dying  day 

The  happy  princess  follow'd  him. 

'The  Day-Dteam 

JUNE  THIRTEENTH 

I  wonder'd  at  the  bounteous  hours, 
The  slow  result  of  winter  showers: 
You  scarce  could  see  the  grass  for  flowers. 

The  Tnvo  Voices 

JUNE  FOURTEENTH 

O  joy  to  him  in  this  retreat, 

Immantled  in  ambrosial  dark, 
To  drink  the  cooler  air,  and  mark 
The  landscape  winking  through  the  heat. 

/«  Memoriam 

JUNE  FIFTEENTH 

Queen  rose  of  the  rosebud  garden  of  girls, 

Come  hither,  the  dances  are  done, 
In  gloss  of  satin  and  glimmer  of  pearls, 

Queen  lily  and  rose  in  one; 
Shine  out,  little  head,  sunning  over  with  curls, 

To  the  flowers,  and  be  their  sun.  Maud 

(  59] 


JUNE  SIXTEENTH 

There  has  fallen  a  splendid  tear 

From  the  passion-flower  at  the  gate. 
She  is  coming,  my  dove,  my  dear ; 

She  is  coming,  my  life,  my  fate  ; 
The  red  rose  cries,  "She  is  near,  she  is  near; 

And  the  white  rose  weeps,  "She  is  late;" 
The  larkspur  listens,  "I  hear,  I  hear;" 

And  the  lily  whispers,  "I  wait." 


Maud 


JUNE  SEVENTEENTH 

She  is  coming,  my  own,  my  sweet; 

Were  it  ever  so  airy  a  tread, 
My  heart  would  hear  her  and  beat, 

Were  it  earth  in  an  earthy  bed ; 
My  dust  would  hear  her  and  beat, 

Had  I  lain  for  a  century  dead ; 
Would  start  and  tremble  under  her  feet, 

And  blossom  in  purple  and  red. 


Maud 


JUNE  EIGHTEENTH 

Dear  as  remember'd  kisses  after  death, 
And  sweet  as  those  by  hopeless  fancy  feign'd 
On  lips  that  are  for  others ;  deep  as  love, 
Deep  as  first  love,  and  wild  with  all  regret; 
O  Death  in  Life,  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

The  Princess 

[60] 

. 


JUNE  NINETEENTH 

I  falter  where  I  firmly  trod, 

And  falling  with  my  weight  of  cares 
Upon  the  great  world's  altar-stairs 

That  slope  thro'  darkness  up  to  God; 

I  stretch  lame  hands  of  faith,  and  grope, 
And  gather  dust  and  chaff,  and  call 
To  what  I  feel  is  Lord  of  all, 

And  faintly  trust  the  larger  hope. 

In  Memoriam 

JUNE  TWENTIETH 

The  lights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks: 
The  long  day  wanes  :  the  slow  moon  climbs  :  the 

deep 

Moans  round  with  many  voices.  Come,  my  friends, 
'Tis  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Push  off,  and  sitting  well  in  order  smite 
The  sounding  furrows;  for  my  purpose  holds 
To  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths 

Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die. 

Ulysses 

JUNE  TWENTY-FIRST 

It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 
And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew. 

Ulysses 


[61  ] 


JUNE  TWENTY-SECOND 

Oh  yet  we  trust  that  somehow  good 
Will  be  the  final  goal  of  ill, 
To  pangs  of  nature,  sins  of  will, 

Defects  of  doubt,  and  taints  of  blood. 


In  Memoriam 


JUNE  TWENTY-THIRD 

That  nothing  walks  with  aimless  feet ; 
That  not  one  life  shall  be  destroy'd, 
Or  cast  as  rubbish  to  the  void, 
When  God  hath  made  the  pile  complete; 

That  not  a  worm  is  cloven  in  vain ; 
That  not  a  moth  v/ith  vain  desire 
Is  shrivell'd  in  a  fruitless  fire, 

Or  but  subserves  another's  gain. 

In  Memoriam 

JUNE  TWENTY-FOURTH 

Like  simple  noble  natures,  credulous 

Of  what  they  long  for,  good  in  friend  or  foe, 

There  most  in  those  who  most  have  done  them  ill. 

Enid 

JUNE  TWENTY-FIFTH 

Whither  away,  whither  away,  whither  away?  fly 

no  more. 
Whither  away  from  the  high  green  field,  and  the 

happy  blossoming  shore? 
[62] 


Day  and  night  to  the  billow  the  fountain  calls ; 

Down  shower  the  gambolling  waterfalls 

From  wandering  over  the  lea : 

Out  of  the  live-green  heart  of  the  dells 

They  freshen  the  silvery-crimson  shells, 

And  thick  with  white  bells  the  clover-hill  swells 

High  over  the  full-toned  sea. 

The  Sea  Fairies 

JUNE  TWENTY-SIXTH 

Nor  bird  would  sing,  nor  lamb  would  bleat, 

Nor  any  cloud  would  cross  the  vault, 
But  day  increased  from  heat  to  heat, 

On  stony  drought  and  steaming  salt; 
Till  now  at  noon  she  slept  again, 

And  seem'd  knee-deep  in  mountain  grass, 
And  heard  her  native  breezes  pass, 
And  runlets  babbling  down  the  glen. 

She  breathed  in  sleep  a  lower  moan, 

And  murmuring,  as  at  night  and  morn, 
She  thought,  "My  spirit  is  here  alone, 
Walks  forgotten,  and  is  forlorn." 

Mariana  in  the  South 

JUNE  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

The  Sun  will  run  his  orbit,  and  the  Moon 
Her  circle.  Wait,  and  Love  himself  will  bring 
The  drooping  flower  of  knowledge  changed  to  fruit 
Of  wisdom.  Wait :  my  faith  is  large  in  Time, 
And  that  which  shapes  it  to  some  perfect  end. 

Love  and  Duty 


JUNE  TWENTY-EIGHTH 
Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 
I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies, 
I  hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 
Little  flower — but  if  I  could  understand 
What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 
I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 

"Flower  in  the  Crannied  Wall' 

JUNE  TWENTY-NINTH 

Not  wholly  in  the  busy  world,  nor  quite 
Beyond  it,  blooms  the  garden  that  I  love. 
News  from  the  humming  city  comes  to  it 
In  sound  of  funeral  or  of  marriage  bells; 
And,  sitting  muffled  in  dark  leaves,  you  hear 
The  windy  clanging  of  the  minster  clock ; 
Although  between  it  and  the  garden  lies 
A  league  of  grass,  wash'd  by  a  slow  broad  stream, 
That,  stirr'd  with  languid  pulses  of  the  oar, 
Waves  all  its  lazy  lilies,  and  creeps  on, 
Barge-laden,  to  three  arches  of  a  bridge 
Crown'd  with  the  minster-towers. 

The  fields  between 

Are  dewy-fresh,  browsed  by  deep-udder'd  kine, 
And  all  about  the  large  lime  feathers  low, 
The  lime  a  summer  home  of  murmurous  wings. 

The  Gardener  s  Daughter 


[64] 


JUNE  THIRTIETH 

Airy,  fairy  Lilian, 

Flitting,  fairy  Lilian, 
When  I  ask  her  if  she  love  me, 
Claps  her  tiny  hands  above  me, 

Laughing  all  she  can  ; 
She'll  not  tell  me  if  she  love  me, 

Cruel  little  Lilian. 

Lilian 


JULY 

•      • 

JULY  FIRST 

A^D  brushing  ankle-deep  in  flowers, 
We  heard  behind  the  woodbine  veil 
The  milk  that  bubbled  in  the  pail, 

And  buzzings  of  the  honeyed  hours. 

In  Memoriam 

JULY  SECOND 

Knowledge  comes,  but   wisdom   lingers,  and   I 

linger  on  the  shore, 
And  the  individual  withers,  and  the  world  is  more 

and  more. 

Locksley  Hall 

JULY  THIRD 

A  wind  to  puff  your  idol-fires, 

And  heap  their  ashes  on  the  head ; 
To  shame  the  boast  so  often  made, 
That  we  are  wiser  than  our  sires. 

"Love  'Thou  Thy  Land"'' 

JULY  FOURTH 

O  yet,  if  Nature's  evil  star 

Drive  men  in  manhood,  as  in  youth, 
To  follow  flying  steps  of  Truth 

Across  the  brazen  bridge  of  war — 
[67] 


If  New  and  Old,  disastrous  feud. 
Must  ever  shock,  like  armed  foes, 
And  this  be  true,  till  Time  shall  close, 

That  Principles  are  rain'd  in  blood; 

Not  yet  the  wise  of  heart  would  cease 
To  hold  his  hope  thro'  shame  and  guilt. 
But  with  his  hand  against  the  hilt, 

Would  pace  the  troubled  land,  like  Peace. 

"Love  Thou  Thy  Land" 

JULY  FIFTH 

Not  less,  tho'  dogs  of  Faction  bay, 

Would  serve  his  kind  in  deed  and  word, 
Certain,  if  knowledge  bring  the  sword, 

That  knowledge  takes  the  sword  away. 

"Love  Thou  Thy  Land'" 

JULY  SIXTH 

When  will  the  hundred  summers  die, 

And  thought  and  time  be  born  again, 
And  newer  knowledge,  drawing  nigh, 

Bring  truth  that  sways  the  soul  of  men? 
Here  all  things  in  their  place  remain, 

As  all  were  order'd,  ages  since. 
Come,  Care  and  Pleasure,  Hope  and  Pain, 

And  bring  the  fated  fairy  Prince. 

The  Day-Dream 


[68] 


JULY  SEVENTH 

To  follow  knowledge,  like  a  sinking  star, 
Beyond  the  utmost  bound  of  human  thought. 

Ulysses 

JULY  EIGHTH 

Life  piled  on  life 

Were  all  too  little,  and  of  one  to  me 
Little  remains :  but  every  hour  is  saved 
From  that  eternal  silence,  something  more, 
A  bringer  of  new  things.  .,, 

JULY  NINTH 

At  eve  a  dry  cicala  sung, 

There  came  a  sound  as  of  the  sea ; 
Backward  the  lattice-blind  she  flung, 

And  lean'd  upon  the  balcony. 
There  all  in  spaces  rosy-bright 

Large  Hesper  glitter'd  on  her  tears, 
And  deepening  thro'  the  silent  spheres, 
Heaven  over  Heaven  rose  the  night. 

And  weeping  then  she  made  her  moan, 

"The  night  comes  on  that  knows  not  morn, 
When  I  shall  cease  to  be  all  alone, 
To  live  forgotten,  and  love  forlorn." 

Mariana  in  the  South 

JULY  TENTH 

Whatever  crazy  sorrow  saith, 

No  life  that  breathes  with  human  breath 

Has  ever  truly  long'd  for  death. 


'Tis  life,  whereof  our  nerves  are  scant, 
Oh  life,  not  death,  for  which  we  pant; 
More  life,  and  fuller,  that  I  want.  ^ 


JULY  ELEVENTH 

Love  trebled  life  within  me,  and  with  each 
The  year  increased. 

The  daughters  of  the  year, 
One  after  one,  thro'  that  still  garden  pass'd  : 
Each  garlanded  with  her  peculiar  flower 
Danced  into  light,  and  died  into  the  shade. 

The  Gardener  s  Daughter 

JULY  TWELFTH 

Ah,  one  rose, 

One  rose,  but  one,  by  those  fair  ringers  cull'd, 
Were  worth  a  hundred  kisses  press'd  on  lips 
Less  exquisite  than  thine.      ^  Gafdna,s  Daughtir 

JULY  THIRTEENTH 

A  crowd  of  hopes, 

That  sought  to  sow  themselves  like  winged  seeds, 
Born  out  of  everything  I  heard  and  saw, 
Flutter'd  about  my  senses  and  my  soul  ; 
And  vague  desires,  like  fitful  blasts  of  balm 
To  one  that  travels  quickly,  made  the  air 
Of  Life  delicious,  and  all  kinds  of  thought, 
That  verged  upon  them,  sweeter  than  the  dream 
Dream'd  by  a  happy  man,  when  the  dark  East, 
Unseen,  is  brightening  to  his  bridal  morn. 

The  Gardeners  Daughter 
[70] 


JULY  FOURTEENTH 

O  Blackbird  !  sing  me  something  well: 

While  all  the  neighbours  shoot  thee  round, 
I  keep  smooth  plats  of  fruitful  ground, 

Where  thou  may'st  warble,  eat  and  dwell. 

The  espaliers  and  the  standards  all 

Are  thine ;  the  range  of  lawn  and  park : 
The  unnetted  black-hearts  ripen  dark, 

All  thine,  against  the  garden  wall. 

The  Blackbird 


JULY  FIFTEENTH 

He  had  never  kindly  heart, 
Nor  ever  cared  to  better  his  own  kind, 
Who  first  wrote  satire,  with  no  pity  in  it. 

Sea  Dreams 


JULY  SIXTEENTH 

The  tiny-trumpeting  gnat  can  break  our  dream 
When  sweetest ;  and  the  vermin  voices  here 
May  buzz  so  loud — we  scorn  them,  but  they  sting. 

Elaine 

JULY  SEVENTEENTH 

I  would  dwell  with  thee, 

Merry  grasshopper, 
Thou  art  so  glad  and  free, 

And  as  light  as  air ; 


Thou  hast  no  sorrow  or  tears, 

Thou  hast  no  compt  of  years. 

No  withered  immortality, 

But  a  short  youth  sunny  and  free.      ^  Grasshopper 

JULY  EIGHTEENTH 

For  every  worm  beneath  the  moon 
Draws  different  threads,  and  late  and  soon 
Spins,  toiling  out  his  own  cocoon,     q-i   q-      y  •. 

JULY  NINETEENTH 

But  were  I  loved,  as  I  desire  to  be, 
What  is  there  in  the  great  sphere  of  the  earth, 
And  range  of  evil  between  death  and  birth, 
That  I  should  fear, —  if  I  were  loved  by  thee? 

Sonnets 

JULY  TWENTIETH 

All  the  inner,  all  the  outer  world  of  pain 

Clear  Love  would  pierce  and  cleave,  if  thou  wert 

mine, 

As  I  have  heard  that,  somewhere  in  the  main, 
Fresh- water-springs  come  up  through  bitter  brine. 

Sonnets 
JULY  TWENTY-FIRST 

The  violet  varies  from  the  lily  as  far 

As  oak  from  elm :  one  loves  the  soldier,  one 

The  silken  priest  of  peace,  one  this,  one  that, 

And  some  unworthily. 

J  The  Princess 

[    72    J 


JULY  TWENTY-SECOND 

Have  I  not  found  a  happy  earth? 

I  least  should  breathe  a  thought  of  pain. 
Woulu  God  renew  me  from  my  birth 

I'd  almost  live  my  life  again. 
So  sweet  it  seems  with  thee  to  walk, 

And  once  again  to  woo  thee  mine  — 
It  seems  in  after-dinner  talk 

Across  the  walnuts  and  the  wine. 


;  Mdler  s  Daughter 


JULY  TWENTY-THIRD 

He  makes  no  friend  who  never  made  a  foe. 
But  now  it  is  my  glory  to  have  loved 
One  peerless,  without  stain. 


Elaine 


JULY  TWENTY-FOURTH 

The  quick  lark's  closest-carolled  strains, 
The  shadow  rushing  up  the  sea, 
The  lightning-flash  atween  the  rains, 
The  sunlight  driving  down  the  lea, 
The  leaping  stream,  the  very  wind, 
That  will  not  stay,  upon  his  way, 
To  stoop  the  cowslip  to  the  plains, 
Is  not  so  clear  and  bold  and  free 
As  you,  my  falcon  Rosalind. 


[73] 


Rosalind 


JULY  TWENTY-FIFTH 

Live — yet  live — 

Shall  sharpest  pathos  blight  us,  knowing  all 
Life  needs  for  life  is  possible  to  will  — 
Live  happy;  tend  thy  flowers;  be  tended  by 
My  blessing  !  Should  my  Shadow  cross  thy  thoughts 
Too  sadly  for  their  peace,  remand  it  thou 
For  calmer  hours  to  Memory's  darkest  hold, 
If  not  to  be  forgotten — not  at  once— 

Not  all  forgotten. 

Lo<ve  and  Duty 


JULY  TWENTY-SIXTH 

I  know  that  this  was  Life, — the  track 
Whereon  with  equal  feet  we  Tared ; 
And  then,  as  now,  the  day  prepared 

The  daily  burden  for  the  back. 

But  this  it  was  that  made  me  move 
As  light  as  carrier-birds  in  air ; 
I  loved  the  weight  I  had  to  bear, 

Because  it  needed  help  of  Love. 


In  Memoriam 


JULY  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

Comfort  her,  comfort  her,  all  things  good, 
While  I  am  over  the  sea ! 
Let  me  and  my  passionate  love  go  by, 
But  speak  to  her  all  things  holy  and  high, 
Whatever  happen  to  me ! 
[74] 


Me  and  my  harmful  love  go  by ; 
But  come  to  her  waking,  find  her  asleep, 
Powers  of  the  height,  Powers  of  the  deep, 
And  comfort  her  tho'  I  die. 

Maud 

JULY  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

My  mother  pitying  made  a  thousand  prayers ; 
My  mother  was  as  mild  as  any  saint, 
Half-canonized  by  all  that  look'd  on  her, 
So  gracious  was  her  tacl  and  tenderness. 

The  Princess 

JULY  TWENTY-NINTH 

Thrice  blest  whose  lives  are  faithful  prayers, 
Whose  loves  in  higher  love  endure; 
What  souls  possess  themselves  so  pure, 

Or  is  there  blessedness  like  theirs? 

In  Memoriam 

JULY  THIRTIETH 

Not  learned,  save  in  gracious  household  ways, 
Not  perfecl,  nay,  but  full  of  tender  wants, 
No  Angel,  but  a  dearer  being,  all  dipt 
In  Angel  instindts,  breathing  Paradise, 
Interpreter  between  the  Gods  and  men, 
Who  look'd  all  native  to  her  place,  and  yet 
On  tiptoe  seem'd  to  touch  upon  a  sphere 
Too  gross  to  tread,  and  all  male  minds  perforce 
Sway'd  to  her  from  their  orbits  as  they  moved, 

And  girdled  her  with  music. 

The  Princes' 

[7S  ] 


JULY  THIRTY-FIRST 

Happy  he 

With  such  a  mother !  faith  in  womankind 
Beats  with  his  blood,  and  trust  in  all  things  high 
Comes  easy  to  him,  and  tho'  he  trip  and  fall 

He  shall  not  blind  his  soul  with  clay. 

7 'he  Princess 


[76] 


AUGUST 

•      • 
• 

AUGUST  FIRST 

BE  mine  a  philosopher's  life  in  the  quiet  wood- 
land ways, 

Where  if  I  cannot  be  gay  let  a  passionless  peao1 
be  my  lot, 

Far-off  from  the  clamour  of  liars  belied  in  the  hub- 
bub of  lies ; 

From  the  long-neck'd  geese  of  the  world  that  are 
ever  hissing  dispraise 

Because  their  natures  are  little,  and,  whether  ht 
heed  it  or  not, 

Where  each  man  walks  with  his  head  in  a  cloud 

of  poisonous  flies. 

Maud 

AUGUST  SECOND 

Is  it  well  to  wish  thee  happy?  —  having  known 

me — to  decline 

On  a  range  of  lower  feelings  and  a  narrower  heart 
than  mine  ! 

Yet  it  shall  be :  thou  shalt  lower  to  his  level  day 
by  day, 

What  is  fine  within  thee  growing  coarse  to  sym- 
pathise with  clay. 

Locksley  HaQ, 

[77] 


AUGUST  THIRD 

As  the  husband  is,  the  wife  is:  thou  art  mated 

with  a  clown, 
And  the  grossness  of  his  nature  will  have  weight 

to  drag  thee  down. 

He  will  hold  thee,  when  his  passion  shall  have 

spent  its  novel  force, 
Something  better  than  his  dog,  a  little  dearer  than 

his  horse. 

LocksUy  Hall 

AUGUST  FOURTH 

Shall  it  not  be  scorn  to  me  to  harp  on  such  a 

moulder'd  string? 
I  am  shamed  thro'  all  my  nature  to  have  loved  so 

slight  a  thing. 

LocksUy  Hall 

AUGUST  FIFTH 

Something  it  is  which  thou  hast  lost, 

Some  pleasure  from  thine  early  years. 
Break,  thou  deep  vase  of  chilling  tears, 

That  grief  hath  shaken  into  frost ! 

In  Memonam 

AUGUST  SIXTH 

There  was  no  motion  in  the  dumb  dead  air, 
Not  any  song  of  bird  or  sound  of  rill} 

Gross  darkness  of  the  inner  sepulchre 
Is  not  so  deadly  still 
[78] 


As  that  wide  forest.  Growths  of  jasmine  turn'd 

Their  humid  arms  festooning  tree  to  tree, 

And  at  the  root  thro'  lush  green  grasses  burn'd 

The  red  anemone. 

A  Dream  of  Fair  Women 

AUGUST  SEVENTH 

On  either  side  the  river  lie 
Long  fields  of  barley  and  of  rye, 
That  clothe  the  wold  and  meet  the  sky; 
And  thro'  the  field  the  road  runs  by 

To  many-tower'd  Camelot; 
And  up  and  down  the  people  go, 
Gazing  where  the  lilies  blow 
Round  an  island  there  below, 

The  island  of  Shalott. 

The  Lady  of '  Shalott 

AUGUST  EIGHTH 

Willows  whiten,  aspens  quiver, 
Little  breezes  dusk  and  shiver 
Thro'  the  wave  that  runs  for  ever 
By  the  island  in  the  river 

Flowing  down  to  Camelot. 
Four  gray  walls,  and  four  gray  towers, 
Overlook  a  space  of  flowers, 
And  the  silent  isle  imbowers 

The  Lady  of  Shalott. 

The  Lady  of  Shalott 

[79] 


AUGUST  NINTH 

I  muse  on  joy  that  will  not  cease, 

Pure  spaces  clothed  in  living  beams, 
Pure  lilies  of  eternal  peace, 

Whose  odours  haunt  my  dreams. 


Sir  Galahad 


A  UGUST  TENTH 

'Tis  a  morning  pure  and  sweet, 
And  the  light  and  shadow  fleet; 
She  is  walking  in  the  meadow, 
And  the  woodland  echo  rings; 
In  a  moment  we  shall  meet; 
She  is  singing  in  the  meadow, 
And  the  rivulet  at  her  feet 
Ripples  on  in  light  and  shadow 
To  the  ballad  that  she  sings. 


Maud 


AUGUST  ELEVENTH 

Silence,  beautiful  voice! 

Be  still,  for  you  only  trouble  the  mind 

With  a  joy  in  which  I  cannot  rejoice, 

A  glory  I  shall  not  find. 

Still !  I  will  hear  you  no  more, 

For  your  sweetness  hardly  leaves  me  a  choice 

But  to  move  to  the  meadow  and  fall  before 

Her  feet  on  the  meadow  grass,  and  adore, 

Not  Tier,  who  is  neither  courtly  nor  kind, 

Not  her,  not  her,  but  a  voice. 


Maud 


[80] 


AUGUST  TWELFTH 

But  am  I  not  the  nobler  thro'  thy  love  ? 

O  three  times  less  unworthy!  likewise  thou 

Art  more  thro'  Love,  and  greater  than  thy  years. 

Love  and  Duty 

AUGUST  THIRTEENTH 

And  never  yet,  since  high  in  Paradise 
O'er  the  four  rivers  the  first  roses  blew, 
Came  purer  pleasure  unto  mortal  kind 
Than  lived  thro'  her,  who  in  that  perilous  hour 
Put  hand  to  hand  beneath  her  husband's  heart, 
And  felt  him  hers  again :  she  did  not  weep, 
But  o'er  her  meek  eyes  came  a  happy  mist 
Like  that  which  kept  the  heart  of  Eden  green 

Before  the  useful  trouble  of  the  rain. 

Enid 

AUGUST  FOURTEENTH 

But  now  by  this  my  love  has  closed  her  sight 
And  given  false  death  her  hand,  and  stol'n  away 
To  dreamful  wastes  where  footless  fancies  dwell 
Among  the  fragments  of  the  golden  day. 
May  nothing  there  her  maiden  grace  affright! 
Dear  heart,  I  feel  with  thee  the  drowsy  spell. 

Maud 

AUGUST  FIFTEENTH 

And  all  that  night  IJieard  the  watchman  peal 
The  sliding  season :  all  that  night  I  heard 
The  heavy  clocks  knolling  the  drowsy  hours. 
[81   ] 


The  drowsy  hours,  dispensers  of  all  good, 
O'er  the  mute  city  stole  with  folded  wings, 
Distilling  odours  on  me  as  they  went 
To  greet  their  fairer  sisters  of  the  East. 

The  Gardener's  Daughter 

AUGUST  SIXTEENTH 

It  is  not  true  that  second  thoughts  are  best, 
But  first,  and  third,  which  are  a  riper  first; 
Too  ripe,  too  late  !  they  come  too  late  for  use. 

Sea  Dreams 

AUGUST  SEVENTEENTH 

But  the  broad  light  glares  and  beats, 

And  the  shadow  flits  and  fleets 

And  will  not  let  me  be ; 

And  I  loathe  the  squares  and  streets, 

And  the  faces  that  one  meets, 

Hearts  with  no  love  for  me  : 

Always  I  long  to  creep 

Into  some  still  cavern  deep, 

There  to  weep,  and  weep,  and  weep 

My  whole  soul  out  to  thee. 

'  Maud 

AUGUST  EIGHTEENTH 

Ah,  sad  and  strange  as  in  dark  summer  dawns 
The  earliest  pipe  of  half-awaken'd  birds 
To  dying  ears,  when  unto  dying  eyes 
The  casement  slowly  grows  a  glimmering  square ; 
So  sad,  so  strange,  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

The  Princess 
[82] 


AUGUST  NINETEENTH 

The  dim  red  morn  had  died,  her  journey  done, 
And  with  dead  lips  smiled  at  the  twilight 

plain, 

Half-falPn  across  the  threshold  of  the  sun, 
Never  to  rise  again. 

A  Dream  of  Fair  Women 

AUGUST  TWENTIETH 

And  from  within  me  a  clear  urider-tone 

Thrill'd  thro'   mine  ears  in   that   unblissful 

clime, 
"Pass  freely  thro':  the  wood  is  all  thine  own, 

Until  the  end  of  time." 

A  Dream  of  Fair  Women 

AUGUST  TWENTY-FIRST 

"Courage!"  he  said,  and  pointed  toward  the  land, 
"This  mounting  wave  will  roll  us  shoreward  soon." 
In  the  afternoon  they  came  unto  a  land, 
In  which  it  seemed  always  afternoon. 
All  round  the  coast  the  languid  air  did  swoon, 
Breathing  like  one  that  hath  a  weary  dream. 
Full-faced  above  the  valley  stood  the  moon ; 
And  like  a  downward  smoke,  the  slender  stream 
Along  the  cliff  to  fall  and  pause  and  fall  did  seem. 

The  Lotos-Eaters 


[83   J 


AUGUST  TWENTY-SECOND 

How   sweet  (while  warm   airs   lull   us,   blowing 

lowly) 

With  half-dropt  eyelids  still, 
Beneath  a  heaven  dark  and  holy, 
To  watch  the  long  bright  river  drawing  slowly 
His  waters  from  the  purple  hill  — 
To  hear  the  dewy  echoes  calling 
From  cave  to  cave  thro'  the  thick-twined  vine — 
To  watch  the  emerald-colour'd  water  falling 
Thro'  many  a  wov'n  acanthus-wreath  divine! 
Only  to  hear  and  see  the  far-off  sparkling  brine, 
Only  to  hear  were  sweet,  stretch'd  out  beneath 

the  pine. 

'The  Lotos -Eaters 

AUGUST  TWENTY-THIRD 

To  hear  each  other's  whisper'd  speech ; 

Eating  the  Lotos  day  by  day, 

To  watch  the  crisping  ripples  on  the  beach, 

And  tender  curving  lines  of  creamy  spray; 

To  lend  our  hearts  and  spirits  wholly 

To  the  influence  of  mild-minded  melancholy; 

To  muse  and  brood  and  live  again  in  memory, 

With  those  old  faces  of  our  infancy 

Heap'd  over  with  a  mound  of  grass, 

Two  handfuls  of  white  dust,  shut  in  an  urn  of 

brass ! 

The  Lotos-Eaters 


AUGUST  TWENTY-FOURTH 
Our  father's  dust  is  left  alone 

And  silent  under  other  snows: 

There  in  due  time  the  woodbine  blows, 

The  violet  comes,  but  we  are  gone. 

In  Memoriam 

AUGUST  TWENTY-FIFTH 

We  ceased  :  a  gentler  feeling  crept 
Upon  us :  surely  rest  is  meet : 
"They  rest,"  we  said,  "their  sleep  is  sweet," 

And  silence  follow'd,  and  we  wept. 

In  Memoriam 

AUGUST  TWENTY-SIXTH 
Break,  break,  break, 

On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  Sea ! 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 

The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

O  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy, 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play ! 

O  well  for  the  sailor  lad, 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay ! 

"Break,  break,  break" 

AUGUST  TWENTY-SEVENTH 
And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  O  for  the  touch  of  a  vanish'd  hand, 
And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still! 
[85] 


Break,  break,  break, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  Sea ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

"Break,  break,  break" 

AUGUST  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

Why  the  life  goes  when  the  blood  is  spilt? 

What  the  life  is?  where  the  soul  may  lie? 
Why  a  church  is  with  a  steeple  built; 
And  a  house  with  a  chimney  pot? 
Who  will  riddle  me  the  how  and  the  what? 
Who  will  riddle  me  the  what  and  the  why  ? 

The  "flow"  and  the  "Why" 

AUGUST  TWENTY-NINTH 

That  Beauty,  Good,  and  Knowledge,  are  three 

sisters 

That  doat  upon  each  other,  friends  to  man, 
Living  together  under  the  same  roof, 
And  never  can  be  sunder'd  without  tears. 
And  he  that  shuts  Love  out,  in  turn  shall  be 
Shut  out  from  Love,  and  on  her  threshold  lie 
Howling  in  outer  darkness.  Not  for  this 
Was  common  clay  ta'en  from  the  common  earth, 
Moulded  by  God,  and  temper'd  with  the  tears 
Of  angels  to  the  perfect  shape  of  man. 

To (The  Palace  of  Art) 


[86] 


AUGUST  THIRTIETH 

He  has  a  solid  base  of  temperament: 
But  as  the  waterlily  starts  and  slides 
Upon  the  level  in  little  puffs  of  wind, 
Tho'  anchor'd  to  the  bottom,  such  is  he. 

The  Princess 

AUGUST  THIRTY-FIRST 
Sunset  and  evening  star, 
And  one  clear  call  for  me ! 
And  may  there  be  no  moaning  of  the  bar, 
When  I  put  out  to  sea, 

But  such  a  tide  as  moving  seems  asleep, 
Too  full  for  sound  and  foam,  , 

When  that  which  drew  from  out  the  boundless 

deep 
Turns  again  home. 

Twilight  and  evening  bell, 

And  after  that  the  dark ! 

And  may  there  be  no  sadness  of  farewell, 

When  I  embark; 

For  tho'  from  out  our  bourne  of  Time  and  Place 

The  flood  may  bear  me  far, 

I  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face 

When  I  have  crost  the  bar. 

Crossing  the  Bar 


[    87] 


SEPTEMBER 

• 

SEPTEMBER  FIRST 

O  SOUND  to  rout  the  brood  of  cares, 
The  sweep  of  scythe  in  morning  dew, 
The  gust  that  round  the  garden  flew, 
And  tumbled  half  the  mellowing  pears ! 

In  Memoriam 

SEPTEMBER  SECOND 

The  charmed  sunset  linger'd  low  adown 

In  the  red  West:  thro'  mountain  clefts  the  dale 

Was  seen  far  inland,  and  the  yellow  down 

Border'd  with  palm,  and  many  a  winding  vale 

And  meadow,  set  with  slender  galingale ; 

A  land  where  all  things  always  seem'd  the  same ! 

And  round  about  the  keel  with  faces  pale, 

Dark  faces  pale  against  that  rosy  flame, 

The  mild-eyed  melancholy  Lotos-eaters  came. 

The  Lotos-Eaters 

SEPTEMBER  THIRD 

There  is  sweet  music  here  that  softer  falls 
Than  petals  from  blown  roses  on  the  grass, 
Or  night-dews  on  still  waters  between  walls 
Of  shadowy  granite,  in  a  gleaming  pass; 
[89] 


Music  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies, 
Than  tir'd  eyelids  upon  tir'd  eyes; 
Music  that  brings  sweet  sleep  down  from  the  bliss- 
ful skies. 

The  Lotos-Eaters 

SEPTEMBER  FOURTH 

Why  are  we  weigh'd  upon  with  heaviness, 
And  utterly  consumed  with  sharp  distress, 
While  all  things  else  have  rest  from  weariness? 
All  things  have  rest :  why  should  we  toil  alone, 
We  only  toil,  who  are  the  first  of  things, 
And  make  perpetual  moan, 
Still  from  one  sorrow  to  another  thrown : 
Nor  ever  fold  our  wings, 
And  cease  from  wanderings, 
Nor  steep  our  brows  in  slumber's  holy  balm ; 
Nor  harken  what  the  inner  spirit  sings, 
"There  is  no  joy  but  calm!" 
Why  should  we  only  toil,  the  roof  and  crown  of 

things  ? 

The  Lotos-Eaters 


SEPTEMBER  FIFTH 

Death  is  the  end  of  life ;  ah,  why 

Should  life  all  labour  be  ? 

The  Lotos- Eaters 


[90] 


SEPTEMBER  SIXTH 

O  ye,  the  wise  who  think,  the  wise  who  reign, 

From  growing  commerce  loose  her  latest  chain, 

And  let  the  fair  white-wing'd  peacemaker  fly 

To  happy  havens  under  all  the  sky, 

And  mix  the  seasons  and  the  golden  hours; 

Till  each  man  find  his  own  in  all  men's  good, 

And  all  men  work  in  noble  brotherhood  — 

Breaking  their  mailed  fleets  and  armed  towers, 

And  ruling  by  obeying  Nature's  powers, 

And  gathering  all  the  fruits  of  earth,  and  crown'd 

with  all  her  flowers. 
Ode  Sung  at  the  Opening  of  the  International  Exhibition,  1862 

SEPTEMBER  SEVENTH 

And  oft  I  talk'd  with  Dubric,  the  high  saint, 
Who,  with  mild  heat  of  holy  oratory, 
Subdued  me  somewhat  to  that  gentleness, 
Which,   when   it  weds  with  manhood,  makes  a 

man. 

Enid 

SEPTEMBER  EIGHTH 

At  last  I  heard  a  voice  upon  the  slope 
Cry  to  the  summit,  "Is  there  any  hope?" 
To  which  an  answer  peal'd  from  that  high  land, 
But  in  a  tongue  no  man  could  understand; 
And  on  the  glimmering  limit  far  withdrawn 
God  made  Himself  an  awful  rose  of  dawn. 

The  Vision  of  Sin 
[91] 


SEPTEMBER  NINTH 

Perplext  in  faith,  but  pure  in  deeds, 
At  last  he  beat  his  music  out. 
There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 

Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds. 

la  Memoriam 

SEPTEMBER  TENTH 

As  nine  months  go  to  the  shaping  an  infant  ripe 
for  his  birth, 

So  many  a  million  of  ages  have  gone  to  the  mak- 
ing of  man : 

He  now  is  first,  but  is  he  the  last?  is  he  not  too 

base  ? 

Maud 

SEPTEMBER  ELEVENTH 

O  Swallow,  Swallow,  flying,  flying  South, 
Fly  to  her,  and  fall  upon  her  gilded  eaves, 
And  tell  her,  tell  her  what  I  tell  to  thee. 

0  tell  her,  Swallow,  thou  that  knowest  each, 
That  bright  and  fierce  and  fickle  is  the  South, 
And  dark  and  true  and  tender  is  the  North. 

The  Princess 

SEPTEMBER  TWELFTH 

1  would  have  hid  her  needle  in  my  heart, 
To  save  her  little  finger  from  a  scratch 

No  deeper  than  the  skin :  my  ears  could  hear 
Her  lightest  breath  :  her  least  remark  was  worth 
[9*  ] 


The  experience  of  the  wise.  I  went  and  came ; 
Her  voice  fled  always  thro'  the  summer  land  ; 
I  spoke  her  name  alone.  Thrice-happy  days! 
The  flower  of  each,  those  moments  when  we  met, 
The  crown  of  all,  we  met  to  part  no  more. 

Edwin  Morris,  or  The  Lake 

SEPTEMBER  THIRTEENTH 
Kate  hath  a  spirit  ever  strung 

Like  a  new  bow,  and  bright  and  sharp 

As  edges  of  the  scymetar. 
Whence  shall  she  take  a  fitting  mate? 

For  Kate  no  common  love  will  feel ; 
My  woman-soldier,  gallant  Kate, 

As  pure  and  true  as  blades  of  steel.  „ 

SEPTEMBER  FOURTEENTH 

I  would  I  were  an  armed  knight, 
Far  famed  for  well-won  enterprise, 

And  wearing  on  my  swarthy  brows 
The  garland  of  new-wreathed  emprise; 

For  in  a  moment  I  would  pierce 
The  blackest  files  of  clanging  fight, 
And  strongly  strike  to  left  and  right, 

In  dreaming  of  my  lady's  eyes.  _. 

SEPTEMBER  FIFTEENTH 

Sweet  is  true  love  tho'  given  in  vain,  in  vain ; 
And  sweet  is  death  who  puts  an  end  to  pain : 
I  know  not  which  is  sweeter,  no,  not  I. 
[  93  J 


Love,  art  thou  sweet  ?  then  bitter  death  must  be  : 
Love,  thou  art  bitter ;  sweet  is  death  to  me. 

0  Love,  if  death  be  sweeter,  let  me  die. 

Elaine 

SEPTEMBER  SIXTEENTH 
Ah,  what  shall  I  be  at  fifty 
Should  Nature  keep  me  alive, 
If  I  find  the  world  so  bitter 
When  I  am  but  twenty-five  ? 
Yet,  if  she  were  not  a  cheat, 
If  Maud  were  all  that  she  seem'd, 
And  her  smile  were  all  that  I  dream'd, 
Then  the  world  were  not  so  bitter 

But  a  smile  could  make  it  sweet. 

Maud 

SEPTEMBER  SEVENTEENTH 

The  man  of  science  himself  is  fonder  of  glory,  and 

vain, 
An  eye  well-pra6lised  in  nature,  a  spirit  bounded 

and  poor; 
The  passionate  heart  of  the  poet  is  whirl'd  into 

folly  and  vice. 

1  would  not  marvel  at  either,  but  keep  a  temper- 

ate brain ; 
For  not  to  desire  or  admire,  if  a  man  could  learn 

it,  were  more 
Than  to  walk  all  day  like  the  sultan  of  old  in  a 

garden  of  spice. 

Maud 

[94] 


SEPTEMBER  EIGHTEENTH 

There  is  confusion  worse  than  death, 

Trouble  on  trouble,  pain  on  pain, 

Long  labour  unto  aged  breath, 

Sore  task  to  hearts  worn  out  with  many  wars 

And  eyes  grown  dim  with  gazing  on  the  pilot 

stars. 

The  Lotos-Efittrf 

SEPTEMBER  NINETEENTH 
Oh  !  sure  it  is  a  special  care 
Of  God,  to  fortify  from  doubt, 
To  arm  in  proof,  and  guard  about 
With  triple-mailed  trust,  and  clear 
Delight,  the  infant's  dawning  year. 

Supposed  Confessions 

SEPTEMBER  TWENTIETH 

I  loved  the  brimming  wave  that  swam 

Thro'  quiet  meadows  round  the  mill, 
The  sleepy  pool  above  the  dam, 

The  pool  beneath  it  never  still, 
The  meal-sacks  on  the  whiten'd  floor, 

The  dark  round  of  the  dripping  wheel, 
The  very  air  about  the  door 

Made  misty  with  the  floating  meal. 

The  Miller's  Daughter 


[95] 


SEPTEMBER  TWENTY-FIRST 

The  world  is  somewhat ;  it  goes  on  somehow ; 
But  what  is  the  meaning  of  then  and  now? 

I  feel  there  is  something;  but  how  and  what? 
I  know  there  is  somewhat;  but  what  and  why? 
I  cannot  tell  if  that  somewhat  be  I. 

The  "  How"  and  the  "Why" 

SEPTEMBER  TWENTY-SECOND 

Kate  saith  "the  world  is  void  of  might." 

Kate  saith  "the  men  are  gilded  flies." 

Kate  snaps  her  ringers  at  my  vows; 

Kate  will  not  hear  of  lover's  sighs. 

Kate 

SEPTEMBER  TWENTY-THIRD 

As  thro'  the  land  at  eve  we  went, 

And  pluck'd  the  ripen'd  ears, 
We  fell  out,  my  wife  and  I, 
O  we  fell  out  I  know  not  why, 

And  kiss'd  again  with  tears. 

For  when  we  came  where  lies  the  child 

We  lost  in  other  years, 
There  above  the  little  grave, 
O  there  above  the  little  grave, 

We  kiss'd  again  with  tears. 

The  Princess 


[96] 


SEPTEMBER  TWENTY-FOURTH 

More  soluble  is  this  knot 
By  gentleness  than  war. 


The  Princess 


SEPTEMBER  TWENTY-FIFTH 

So  much  the  gathering  darkness  charm'd :  we  sat 
But  spoke  not,  rapt  in  nameless  reverie, 
Perchance  upon  the  future  man  :  the  walls 
Blacken'd  about  us,  bats  wheel'd,and  owls  whoop'd, 
And  gradually  the  powers  of  the  night, 
That  range  above  the  region  of  the  wind, 
Deepening  the  courts  of  twilight  broke  them  up 
Thro'  all  the  silent  spaces  of  the  worlds, 
Beyond  all  thought  into  the  Heaven  of  Heavens. 

The  Princess 

SEPTEMBER  TWENTY-SIXTH 

Lo  !  in  the  middle  of  the  wood, 
The  folded  leaf  is  woo'd  from  out  the  bud 
With  winds  upon  the  branch,  and  there 
Grows  green  and  broad,  and  takes  no  care, 
Sun-steep'd  at  noon,  and  in  the  moon 
Nightly  dew-fed ;  and  turning  yellow 

Falls,  and  floats  adown  the  air. 

The  Lotos-Eaters 


[97] 


SEPTEMBER  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

Lo !  sweeten'd  with  the  summer  light, 

The  full-juiced  apple,  waxing  over-mellow, 

Drops  in  a  silent  autumn  night. 

All  its  allotted  length  of  days, 

The  flower  ripens  in  its  place, 

Ripens  and  fades,  and  falls,  and  hath  no  toil, 

Fast-rooted  in  the  fruitful  soil. 

The  Lotos-Eaten 

SEPTEMBER  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

All  things  have  rest,  and  ripen  toward  the  grave 
In  silence;  ripen,  fall  and  cease: 
Give  us  long  rest  or  death,  dark  death,  or  dream- 
ful ease. 

The  Lotos-Eaten 

SEPTEMBER  TWENTY-NINTH 

Flow  down,  cold  rivulet,  to  the  sea, 

Thy  tribute  wave  deliver: 
No  more  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be, 

For  ever  and  for  ever. 

Flow,  softly  flow,  by  lawn  and  lea, 

A  rivulet  then  a  river: 
No  where  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be, 

For  ever  and  for  ever. 

A  Fareivell 


[98] 


SEPTEMBER  THIRTIETH 

But  here  will  sigh  thine  alder  tree, 

And  here  thine  aspen  shiver; 
And  here  by  thee  will  hum  the  bee, 

For  ever  and  for  ever. 

A  thousand  suns  will  stream  on  thee, 

A  thousand  moons  will  quiver; 
But  not  by  thee  my  steps  shall  be, 

For  ever  and  for  ever. 

A  Farewell 


[   99] 


OCTOBER 


OCTOBER  FIRST 

THOUGH  Night  hath  climbed  her  peak  of 
highest  noon, 

And  bitter  blasts  the  screaming  autumn  whirl, 
All  night  through  archways  of  the  bridged  pearl, 
And  portals  of  pure  silver  walks  the  moon. 
Walk  on,  my  soul,  nor  crouch  to  agony, 
Turn  cloud  to  light,  and  bitterness  to  joy, 
And  dross  to  gold  with  glorious  alchemy, 
Basing  thy  throne  above  the  world's  annoy. 

Sonnet 

OCTOBER  SECOND 

Beat,  happy  stars,  timing  with  things  below, 
Beat  with  my  heart  more  blest  than  heart  can  tell, 
Blest,  but  for  some  dark  undercurrent  woe 
That  seems  to  draw — but  it  shall  not  be  so: 

Let  all  be  well,  be  well. 

Maud 


[    10! 


OCTOBER  THIRD 

0  let  the  solid  ground 
Not  fail  beneath  my  feet 

Before  my  life  has  found 

What  some  have  found  so  sweet; 
Then  let  come  what  come  may, 
What  matter  if  I  go  mad, 

1  shall  have  had  my  day. 


Maud 


OCTOBER  FOURTH 

Not  die;  but  live  a  life  of  truest  breath, 
And  teach  true  life  to  fight  with  mortal  wrongs. 
O,  why  should  Love,  like  men  in  drinking-songs, 
Spice  his  fair  banquet  with  the  dust  of  death  ? 
Make  answer,  Maud  my  bliss, 
Maud  made  my  Maud  by  that  long  lover's  kiss, 
Life  of  my  life,  wilt  thou  not  answer  this? 
"The  dusky  strand  of  Death  inwoven  here 
With  dear  Love's  tie,  makes  Love  himself  more 
dear." 

Maud 

OCTOBER  FIFTH 

This  truth  came  borne  with  bier  and  pall, 
I  felt  it,  when  I  sorrow'd  most, 
cTis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost, 

Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all. 

In  Memcriam 


(    icz] 


OCTOBER  SIXTH 

The  bulrush  nods  unto  its  brother, 
The  wheatears  whisper  to  each  other : 
What  is  it  they  say?  What  do  they  there? 
Why  two  and  two  make  four?  Why  round  is  not 

square? 

Why  the  rock  stands  still,  and  the  light  clouds  fly  ? 
Why  the  heavy  oak  groans,  and  the  white  willows 

sigh  ? 

Why  deep  is  not  high,  and  high  is  not  deep? 
Whether  we  wake,  or  whether  we  sleep? 
Whether  we  sleep,  or  whether  we  die? 
How  you  are  you  ?  Why  I  am  I  ? 
Who  will  riddle  me  the  how  and  the  why? 

The  "  How  "  and  the  "  Why' 

OCTOBER  SEVENTH 

A  spirit  haunts  the  year's  last  hours 
Dwelling  amid  these  yellowing  bowers: 

To  himself  he  talks  ; 
For  at  eventide,  listening  earnestly, 
At  his  work  you  may  hear  him  sob  and  sigh 
In  the  walks; 

Earthward  he  boweth  the  heavy  stalks 
Of  the  mouldering  flowers : 

Heavily  hangs  the  broad  sunflower 

Over  its  grave  i'  the  earth  so  chilly; 
Heavily  hangs  the  hollyhock, 

Heavily  hangs  the  tiger-lily. 

Song 

[   103  ] 


OCTOBER  EIGHTH 

The  air  is  damp,  and  hush'd,  and  close, 

As  a  sick  man's  room  when  he  taketh  repose 

An  hour  before  death ; 

My  very  heart  faints  and  my  whole  soul  grieves 
At  the  moist  rich  smell  of  the  rotting  leaves, 

And  the  breath 

Of  the  fading  edges  of  box  beneath, 
And  the  year's  last  rose. 

Heavily  hangs  the  broad  sunflower 

Over  its  grave  i'  the  earth  so  chilly; 
Heavily  hangs  the  hollyhock, 

Heavily  hangs  the  tiger-lily. 

Song 

OCTOBER  NINTH 

Let  us  alone.  Time  driveth  onward  fast, 
And  in  a  little  while  our  lips  are  dumb. 
Let  us  alone.  What  is  it  that  will  last  ? 

The  Lotos-Eaters 

OCTOBER  TENTH 

See  what  a  lovely  shell, 
Small  and  pure  as  a  pearl, 
Lying  close  to  my  foot, 
Frail,  but  a  work  divine, 
Made  so  fairily  well 
With  delicate  spire  and  whorl, 
How  exquisitely  minute, 
A  miracle  of  design  ! 

Maud 

[  I04  ] 


OCTOBER  ELEVENTH 
What  is  it  r  a  learned  man 
Could  give  it  a  clumsy  name. 
Let  him  name  it  who  can, 
The  beauty  would  be  the  same. 


Maud 


OCTOBER  TWELFTH 
The  tiny  cell  is  forlorn, 
Void  of  the  little  living  will 
That  made  it  stir  on  the  shore. 
Did  he  stand  at  the  diamond  door 
Of  his  house  in  a  rainbow  frill  ? 
Did  he  push,  when  he  was  uncurl'd, 
A  golden  foot  or  a  fairy  horn 
Thro'  his  dim  water-world  ? 


Maud 


OCTOBER  THIRTEENTH 

Slight,  to  be  crush'd  with  a  tap 
Of  my  finger-nail  on  the  sand, 
Small,  but  a  work  divine, 
Frail,  but  of  force  to  withstand 
Year  upon  year,  the  shock 
Of  cataradl  seas  that  snap 
The  three-decker's  oaken  spine 
Athwart  the  ledges  of  rock, 
Here  on  the  Breton  strand ! 


Maud 


(  105  ] 


OCTOBER  FOURTEENTH 

Calm  is  the  morn  without  a  sound, 
Calm  as'to  suit  a  calmer  grief, 
And  only  thro'  the  faded  leaf 

The  chestnut  pattering  to  the  ground : 

Calm  and  deep  peace  on  this  high  wold, 
And  on  these  dews  that  drench  the  furze, 
And  all  the  silvery  gossamers 

That  twinkle  into  green  and  gold. 


In  Memoriam 


OCTOBER  FIFTEENTH 

Calm  and  still  light  on  yon  great  plain 
That  sweeps  with  all  its  autumn  bowers, 
And  crowded  farms  and  lessening  towers, 
To  mingle  with  the  bounding  main. 

Calm  and  deep  peace  in  this  wide  air, 
These  leaves  that  redden  to  the  fall ; 
And  in  my  heart,  if  calm  at  all, 

If  any  calm,  a  calm  despair. 


In  Memoriam 


OCTOBER  SIXTEENTH 

To  Sleep  I  give  my  powers  away; 

My  will  is  bondsman  to  the  dark; 

I  sit  within  a  helmless  bark, 
And  with  my  heart  I  muse  and  say : 

[  106] 


0  heart,  how  fares  it  with  thee  now, 
That  thou  should'st  fail  from  thy  desire, 
Who  scarcely  darest  to  inquire, 

"What  is  it  makes  me  beat  so  low?" 

In  Memoriam 

OCTOBER  SEVENTEENTH 

Such  clouds  of  nameless  trouble  cross 
All  night  below  the  darken'd  eyes ; 
With  morning  wakes  the  will,  and  cries, 

"Thou  shalt  not  be  the  fool  of  loss." 

In  Memoriam 

OCTOBER  EIGHTEENTH 

1  sometimes  hold  it  half  a  sin 

To  put  in  words  the  grief  I  feel ; 
For  words,  like  Nature,  half  reveal 
And  half  conceal  the  Soul  within. 

But,  for  the  unquiet  heart  and  brain, 
A  use  in  measured  language  lies; 
The  sad  mechanic  exercise, 

Like  dull  narcotics,  numbing  pain. 

In  Memoriam 

OCTOBER  NINETEENTH 

In  words,  like  weeds,  I'll  wrap  me  o'er, 
Like  coarsest  clothes  against  the  cold  ; 
But  that  large  grief  which  these  enfold 

Is  given  in  outline  and  no  more. 

In  Memoriam 

(    107] 


OCTOBER  TWENTIETH 

One  writes,  that  "Other  friends  remain," 
That  "Loss  is  common  to  the  race"- 
And  common  is  the  commonplace, 

And  vacant  chaff  well  meant  for  grain. 

That  loss  is  common  would  not  make 
My  own  less  bitter,  rather  more : 
Too  common  !  Never  morning  wore 

To  evening,  but  some  heart  did  break. 

In  Memoriam 

OCTOBER  TWENTY-FIRST 

I  hold 

That  it  becomes  no  man  to  nurse  despair, 
But  in  the  teeth  of  clench'd  antagonisms 
To  follow  up  the  worthiest  till  he  die. 

The  Princess 

OCTOBER  TWENTY-SECOND 

Tears,  idle  tears,  I  know  not  what  they  mean, 
Tears  from  the  depth  of  some  divine  despair 
Rise  in  the  heart,  and  gather  to  the  eyes, 
In  looking  on  the  happy  Autumn-fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

Fresh  as  the  first  beam  glittering  on  a  sail, 
That  brings  our  friends  up  from  the  underworld, 
Sad  as  the  last  which  reddens  over  one 
That  sinks  with  all  we  love  below  the  verge ; 
So  sad,  so  fresh,  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

The  Princess 
[   .08] 


OCTOBER  TWENTY-THIRD 

My  princess,  O  my  princess !  true  she  errs, 
But  in  her  own  grand  way :  being  herself 
Three  times  more  noble  than  threescore  of  men, 
She  sees  herself  in  every  woman  else, 
And  so  she  wears  her  error  like  a  crown 

To  blind  the  truth  and  me. 

'The  Princess 

OCTOBER  TWENTY-FOURTH 

Comedown,  O  maid,  fromyondermountain  height: 
What  pleasure  lives  in  height  (the  shepherd  sang) 
In  height  and  cold,  the  splendour  of  the  hills? 
But  cease  to  move  so  near  the  Heavens,  and  cease 
To  glide  a  sunbeam  by  the  blasted  Pine, 
To  sit  a  star  upon  the  sparkling  spire ; 
And  come,  for  Love  is  of  the  valley,  come, 
For  Love  is  of  the  valley,  come  thou  down 

And  find  him. 

The  Princess 

OCTOBER  TWENTY-FIFTH 

Yet  in  the  long  years  liker  must  they  grow; 
The  man  be  more  of  woman,  she  of  man; 
He  gain  in  sweetness  and  in  moral  height, 
Nor  lose  the  wrestling  thews  that  throw  the  world  ; 
She  mental  breadth,  nor  fail  in  childward  care, 
Nor  lose  the  childlike  in  the  larger  mind ; 
Till  at  the  last  she  set  herself  to  man, 

Like  perfedt  music  unto  noble  words. 

T/te  Princess 

[  I09  ] 


OCTOBER  TWENTY-SIXTH 

Dear,  but  let  us  type  them  now 
In  our  own  lives,  and  this  proud  watchword  rest 
Of  equal;  seeing  either  sex  alone 
Is  half  itself,  and  in  true  marriage  lies 
Nor  equal,  nor  unequal :  each  fulfils 
Defecl:  in  each,  and  always  thought  in  thought, 
Purpose  in  purpose,  will  in  will,  they  grow, 
The  single  pure  and  perfect  animal, 
The  two-cell'd  heart  beating,  with  one  full  stroke, 

Life. 

The  Princess 

OCTOBER  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

Shall  eagles  not  be  eagles  ?  wrens  be  wrens  ? 
If  all  the  world  were  falcons,  what  of  that? 
The  wonder  of  the  eagle  were  the  less, 
But  he  not  less  the  eagle.  Happy  days 
Roll  onward,  leading  up  the  golden  year. 

The  Golden  Year 

OCTOBER  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

Less  of  sentiment  than  sense 
Had  Katie ;  not  illiterate ;  neither  one 
Who  dabbling  in  the  fount  of  ficlive  tears, 
And  nursed  by  mealy-mouthM  philanthropies, 
Divorce  the  Feeling  from  her  mate  the  Deed. 

The  Brook 


[   no] 


OCTOBER  TWENTY-NINTH 

O  Katie,  what  I  suffer'd  for  your  sake ! 
For  in  I  went,  and  call'd  old  Philip  out 
To  show  the  farm :  full  willingly  he  rose : 
He  led  me  thro'  the  short  sweet-smelling  lanes 
Of  his  wheat-suburb,  babbling  as  he  went. 
He  praised  his  land,  his  horses,  his  machines; 
He  praised  his  ploughs,  his  cows,  his  hogs,  his  dogs ; 
He  praised  his  hens,  his  geese,  his  guinea-hens; 
His  pigeons,  who  in  session  on  their  roofs 
Approved  him,  bowing  at  their  own  deserts : 
Then  from  the  plaintive  mother's  teat  he  took 
Her  blind  and  shuddering  puppies,  naming  each, 
And  naming  those,   his  friends,  for  whom  they 

were : 
Then  crost  the  common  into  Darnley  chase 

To  show  Sir  Arthur's  deer. 

The  Brook 

OCTOBER  THIRTIETH 

Then,  while  I  breathed  in  sight  of  haven,  he, 
Poor  fellow,  could  he  help  it  ?  recommenced, 
And  ran  thro'  all  the  coltish  chronicle, 
Wild  Will,  Black  Bess,  Tantivy,  Tallyho, 
Reform,  White  Rose,  Bellerophon,  the  Jilt, 
Arbaces,  and  Phenomenon,  and  the  rest, 
Till,  not  to  die  a  listener,  I  arose, 
And  with  me  Philip,  talking  still ;  and  so 
We  turn'd  our  foreheads  from  the  falling  sun, 
And  following  our  own  shadows  thrice  as  long 
As  when  they  follow'd  us  from  Philip's  door, 
[   "'  J 


Arrived,  and  found  the  sun  of  sweet  content 
Re-risen  in  Katie's  eyes,  and  all  things  well. 

The  Brook 

OCTOBER  THIRTY-FIRST 

And  so  these  twain,  upon  the  skirts  of  Time, 
Sit  side  by  side,  full-summ'd  in  all  their  powers, 

Dispensing  harvest,  sowing  the  To-be. 

The  Princess 


NOVEMBER  FIRST 

TO-NIGHT  the  winds  began  to  rise  • 
And  roar  from  yonder  dropping  day: 
The  last  red  leaf  is  whirl'd  away, 
The  rooks  are  blown  about  the  skies; 

The  forest  crack'd,  the  waters  curPd, 
The  cattle  huddled  on  the  lea; 
And  wildly  dash'd  on  tower  and  tree 

The  sunbeam  strikes  along  the  world. 

In  Memoriam 

NOVEMBER  SECOND 

Put  down  the  passions  that  make  earth  Hell ! 
Down  with  ambition,  avarice,  pride, 
Jealousy,  down  !  cut  off  from  the  mind 
The  bitter  springs  of  anger  and  fear ; 
Down  too,  down  at  your  own  fireside, 
With  the  evil  tongue  and  the  evil  ear, 

For  each  is  at  war  with  mankind. 

Maud 

NOVEMBER  THIRD 

His  gain  is  loss;  for  he  that  wrongs  his  friend 
Wrongs  himself  more,  and  ever  bears  about 
[  "3  ] 


A  silent  court  of  justice  in  his  breast, 
Himself  the  judge  and  jury,  and  himself 
The  prisoner  at  the  bar,  ever  condemn'd  : 
And  that  drags  down  his  life. 


Sea  Dreams 


NOVEMBER  FOURTH 

Home  they  brought  her  warrior  dead: 

She  nor  swoon'd,  nor  utter'd  cry: 
All  her  maidens,  watching,  said, 
"She  must  weep  or  she  will  die." 

Then  they  praised  him,  soft  and  low, 
Call'd  him  worthy  to  be  loved, 

Truest  friend  and  noblest  foe ; 
Yet  she  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 


The  Princess 


NOVEMBER  FIFTH 

Stole  a  maiden  from  her  place, 
Lightly  to  the  warrior  stept, 

Took  the  face-cloth  from  the  face; 
Yet  she  neither  moved  nor  wept. 

Rose  a  nurse  of  ninety  years, 

Set  his  child  upon  her  knee — 
Like  summer  tempest  came  her  tears — 
"Sweet  my  child,  I  live  for  thee." 


The  Princess 


[  "4] 


NOVEMBER  SIXTH 

As  these  white  robes  are  soiled  and  dark, 

To  yonder  shining  ground  ; 
As  this  pale  taper's  earthly  spark, 

To  yonder  argent  round  ; 
So  shows  my  soul  before  the  Lamb, 

My  spirit  before  Thee; 
So  in  mine  earthly  house  I  am, 

To  that  I  hope  to  be. 
Break  up  the  heavens,  O  Lord  !  and  far, 

Thro'  all  yon  starlight  keen, 
Draw  me,  thy  bride,  a  glittering  star, 

In  raiment  white  and  clean. 

St.  Agnes'  E*ue 


NOVEMBER  SEVENTH 

Again  the  voice  spake  unto  me: 
"Thou  art  so  steep'd  in  misery, 
Surely  'twere  better  not  to  be. 

"Thine  anguish  will  not  let  thee  sleep, 
Not  any  train  of  reason  keep : 
Thou  canst  not  think,  but  thou  wilt  weep." 

The  Two  Voicct 


NOVEMBER  EIGHTH 

I  said  that  "all  the  years  invent; 
Each  month  is  various  to  present 
The  world  with  some  development. 

[   "$] 


"Were  this  not  well,  to  bide  mine  hour, 
Tho'  watching  from  a  ruin'd  tower 
How  grows  the  day  of  human  power?" 

"The  Tivo  Voices 

NOVEMBER  NINTH 

A  second  voice  was  at  mine  ear, 

A  little  whisper  silver-clear, 

A  murmur,  "Be  of  better  cheer." 

As  from  some  blissful  neighbourhood 
A  notice  faintly  understood, 

"I  see  the  end,  and  know  the  good." 

The  Two  Voices 

NOVEMBER  TENTH 

A  little  hint  to  solace  woe, 
A  hint,  a  whisper  breathing  low, 
"I  may  not  speak  of  what  I  know.'* 

Like  an  ^olian  harp  that  wakes 

No  certain  air,  but  overtakes 

Far  thought  with  music  that  it  makes: 

Such  seem'd  the  whisper  at  my  side. 

The  Two  Voices 

NOVEMBER  ELEVENTH 

Forgive  my  grief  for  one.  removed, 
Thy  creature,  whom  I  found  so  fair. 
I  trust  he  lives  in  thee,  and  there 

I  find  him  worthier  to  be  loved. 

In  Memoriam 

[  116] 


NOVEMBER  TWELFTH 

Words  weaker  than  your  grief  would  make 

Grief  more.  'Twere  better  I  should  cease; 
Although  myself  could  almost  take 

The  place  of  him  that  sleeps  in  peace. 

To  J.  S, 

NOVEMBER  THIRTEENTH 

A  shadow  flits  before  me, 

Not  thou,  but  like  to  thee ; 

Ah  Christ,  that  it  were  possible 

For  one  short  hour  to  see 

The  souls  we  loved,  that  they  might  tell  us 

What  and  where  they  be. 

Maud 

NOVEMBER  FOURTEENTH 

Yet  pity  for  a  horse  o'er-driven, 

And  love  in  which  my  hound  has  part, 
Can  hang  no  weight  upon  my  heart 

In  its  assumptions  up  to  heaven ; 

And  I  am  so  much  more  than  these, 
As  thou,  perchance,  art  more  than  I, 
And  yet  I  spare  them  sympathy, 

And  I  would  set  their  pains  at  ease. 


In  Memortam 


NOVEMBER  FIFTEENTH 

Love  is  and  was  my  Lord  and  King, 
And  in  his  presence  I  attend 
To  hear  the  tidings  of  my  friend, 

Which  every  hour  his  couriers  bring. 


In  Memonam 


NOVEMBER  SIXTEENTH 

Love  is  and  was  my  King  and  Lord, 
And  will  be,  tho'  as  yet  I  keep 
Within  his  court  on  earth,  and  sleep 

Encompass'd  by  his  faithful  guard, 

And  hear  at  times  a  sentinel 

That  moves  about  from  place  to  place, 
And  whispers  to  the  vast  of  space 

Among  the  worlds,  that  all  is  well. 

In  Memoriam 

NOVEMBER  SEVENTEENTH 

Yet  is  there  one  true  line,  the  pearl  of  pearls; 
"  Man  dreams  of  Fame  while  woman  wakes  to  love." 
True  :  Love,  tho'  Love  were  of  the  grossest,  carves 
A  portion  from  the  solid  present,  eats 
And  uses,  careless  of  the  rest ;  but  Fame, 
The  Fame  that  follows  death  is  nothing  to  us; 
And  what  is  Fame  in  life  but  half-disfame, 

And  counterchanged  with  darkness? 

Vivien 

NOVEMBER  EIGHTEENTH 

Stabb'd  through  the  heart's  affections  to  the  heart ! 
Seeth'd  like  the  kid  in  its  own  mother's  milk ! 
Kill'd  with  a  word  worse  than  a  life  of  blows! 
I  thought  that  he  was  gentle,  being  great: 

0  God,  that  I  had  loved  a  smaller  man ! 

1  should  have  found  in  him  a  greater  heart. 

Hvit* 


NOVEMBER  NINETEENTH 

Love  un returned  is  like  the  fragrant  flame 
Folding  the  slaughter  of  the  sacrifice 

Offered  to  gods  upon  an  altarthrone. 

To 

NOVEMBER  TWENTIETH 

I  made  them  lay  their  hands  in  mine  and  swear 

To  reverence  the  King,  as  if  he  were 

Their  conscience,  and  their  conscience  as  their 

King, 

To  break  the  heathen  and  uphold  the  Christ, 
To  ride  abroad  redressing  human  wrongs, 
To  speak  no  slander,  no,  nor  listen  to  it, 
To  lead  sweet  lives  in  purest  chastity, 
To  love  one  maiden  only,  cleave  to  her, 
And  worship  her  by  years  of  noble  deeds, 

Until  they  won  her. 

Guinevere 


NOVEMBER  TWENTY-FIRST 

The  stern  were  mild  when  thou  wert  by, 
The  flippant  put  himself  to  school 
And  heard  thee,  and  the  brazen  fool 

Was  soften'd,  and  he  knew  not  why; 

While  I,  thy  dearest,  sat  apart, 

And  felt  thy  triumph  was  as  mine; 

And  loved  them  more,  that  they  were  thine, 

The  graceful  tacl,  the  Christian  art; 

f  »9] 


Not.  mine  the  sweetness  or  the  skill, 
But  mine  the  love  that  will  not  tire, 
And,  born  of  love,  the  vague  desire 

That  spurs  an  imitative  will. 


In  Memoriam 


NOVEMBER  TWENTY-SECOND 

And  thus  he  bore  without  abuse 
The  grand  old  name  of  gentleman, 
Defamed  by  every  charlatan, 

And  soil'd  with  all  ignoble  use. 


In  Memorian. 


NOVEMBER  TWENTY-THIRD 

Ah  God,  for  a  man  with  heart,  head,  hand, 
Like  some  of  the  simple  great  ones  gone 
For  ever  and  ever  by, 
One  still  strong  man  in  a  blatant  land, 
Whatever  they  call  him,  what  care  I, 
Aristocrat,  democrat,  autocrat, — one 
Who  can  rule  and  dare  not  lie. 

And  ah  for  a  man  to  arise  in  me, 

That  the  man  I  am  may  cease  to  be! 

Maud 

NOVEMBER  TWENTY-FOURTH 

Yea  too,  myself  from  myself  I  guard, 
For  often  a  man's  own  angry  pride 

Is  cap  and  bells  for  a  fool. 

Maud 

f    120  ] 


NOVEMBER  TWENTY-FIFTH 

Half  fearful  that,  with  self  at  strife 

I  take  myself  to  task  ; 
Lest  of  the  fullness  of  my  life 

I  leave  an  empty  flask. 

Will  Waterproof^;  Monologue 

NOVEMBER  TWENTY-SIXTH 

And  slow  and  sure  comes  up  the  golden  year. 

When  wealth  no  more  shall  rest  in  mounded  heaps, 
But  smit  with  freer  light  shall  slowly  melt 
In  many  streams  to  fatten  lower  lands, 
And  light  shall  spread,  and  man  be  liker  man 
Thro'  all  the  season  of  the  golden  year. 

The  Golden  Tear 
• 
NOVEMBER  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

But  where  the  path  we  walk'd  began 
To  slant  the  fifth  autumnal  slope, 
As  we  descended  following  Hope, 

There  sat  the  Shadow  fear'd  of  man  ; 

Who  broke  our  fair  companionship, 
And  spread  his  mantle  dark  and  cold ; 
And  wrapt  thee  formless  in  the  fold, 

And  dull'd  the  murmur  on  thy  lip; 

And  bore  thee  where  I  could  not  see 
Nor  follow,  tho'  I  walk  in  haste; 
And  think,  that  somewhere  in  the  waste 

The  Shadow  sits  and  waits  for  me. 

In 


NOVEMBER  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

If  e'er  when  faith  had  fall'n  asleep, 
I  heard  a  voice  "believe  no  more" 
And  heard  an  ever-breaking  shore 

That  tumbled  in  the  Godless  deep; 

A  warmth  within  the  breast  would  melt 
The  freezing  reason's  colder  part, 
And  like  a  man  in  wrath  the  heart 

Stood  up  and  answer'd  "I  have  felt." 


In  Memoriam 


NOVEMBER  TWENTY-NINTH 

How  sweet  to  have  a  common  faith! 
To  hold  a  common  scorn  of  death ! 
And  at  a  burial  to  hear 

The  creaking  cords  which  wound  and  eat 
Into  my  human  heart,  whene'er 
Earth  goes  to  earth,  with  grief,  not  fear, 

With  hopeful  grief,  were  passing  sweet! 

Supposed  Confessions 

NOVEMBER  THIRTIETH 

A  grief  not  uninformed,  and  dull, 
Hearted  with  hope,  of  hope  as  full 
As  is  the  blood  with  life,  or  night 
And  a  dark  cloud  with  rich  moonlight. 
To  stand  beside  a  grave,  and  see 
The  red  small  atoms  wherewith  we 


Are  built,  and  smile  in  calm,  and  say — 
"These  little  motes  and  grains  shall  be 
Clothed  on  with  immortality 
More  glorious  than  the  noon  of  day." 

Supposed  Confessions 


[   "3] 


DECEMBER 

DECEMBER  FIRST 

GREAT  deeds  cannot  die: 
They  with  the  sun  and  moon  renew  their 

light 
For  ever,  blessing  those  that  look  on  them. 

The  Princess 

DECEMBER  SECOND 

Not  clinging  to  some  ancient  saw; 

Not  master'd  by  some  modern  term ; 

Not  swift  nor  slow  to  change,  but  firm 
And  in  its  season  bring  the  law. 

"  Love  Thou  Thy  Land  " 

DECEMBER  THIRD 

Why  do  they  prate  of  the  blessings  of  Peace  ?  we 

have  made  them  a  curse, 
Pickpockets,  each  hand  lusting  for  all  that  is  not 

its  own  ; 
And  lust  of  gain,  in  the  spirit  of  Cain,  is  it  better 

or  worse 
Than  the  heart  of  the  citizen  hissing  in  war  on 

his  own  hearthstone? 

Maud 


[  »5  1 


DECEMBER  FOURTH 

Trust  me,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

From  yon  blue  heavens  above  us  bent 
The  grand  old  gardener  and  his  wife 

Smile  at  the  claims  of  long  descent. 
Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me, 

'Tis  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 

And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere 

DECEMBER  FIFTH 

Look  thro'  mine  eyes  with  thine.  True  wife, 

Round  my  true  heart  thine  arms  entwine; 
My  other  dearer  life  in  life, 

Look  thro'  my  very  soul  with  thine ! 
Untouch'd  with  any  shade  of  years, 

May  those  kind  eyes  for  ever  dwell ! 
They  have  not  shed  a  many  tears, 

Dear  eyes,  since  first  I  knew  them  well. 

The  Millers  Daughter 

DECEMBER  SIXTH 

Thou  who  stealest  fire, 
From  the  fountains  of  the  past, 
To  glorify  the  present ;  oh,  haste, 

Visit  my  low  desire  ! 
Strengthen  me,  enlighten  me! 
I  faint  in  this  obscurity, 

Thou  dewy  dawn  of  memory. 

Ode  to  Memory 

[1*6] 


DECEMBER  SEVENTH 

This  fine  old  world  of  ours  is  but  a  child 
Yet  in  the  go-cart.  Patience !  Give  it  time 
To  learn  its  limbs :  there  is  a  hand  that  guides. 

'The  Princess 

DECEMBER  EIGHTH 

It  is  better  to  fight  for  the  good,  than  to  rail  at 

the  ill; 
I  have  felt  with  my  native  land,  I  am  one  with 

my  kind, 
I  embrace  the  purpose  of  God,  and  the  doom  as- 

sign'd. 

Maud 

DECEMBER  NINTH 

For  all  things  serve  their  time 
Toward  that  great  yeat  of  equal  mights  and  rights, 
Nor  would  I  fight  with  iron  laws,  in  the  end 
Found  golden :  let  the  past  be  past. 

The  Princess 

DECEMBER  TENTH 

To-morrow  yet  would  reap  to-day, 

As  we  bear  blossom  of  the  dead  ; 

Earn  well  the  thrifty  months,  nor  wed 
Raw  Haste,  half-sister  to  Delay. 

"Love  Thou  Thy  Land" 


DECEMBER  ELEVENTH 

O  thou  that  after  toil  and  storm 

Mayst  seem  to  have  reach'd  a  purer  air, 
Whose  faith  has  centre  everywhere, 
Nor  cares  to  fix  itself  to  form, 

Leave  thou  thy  sister  when  she  prays, 
Her  early  Heaven,  her  happy  views; 
Nor  thou  with  shadow'd  hint  confuse 

A  life  that  leads  melodious  days. 


In  Memoriam 


In  Memoriam 


DECEMBER  TWELFTH 

Her  eyes  are  homes  of  silent  prayer. 

DECEMBER  THIRTEENTH 

Clara,  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

If  Time  be  heavy  on  your  hands, 
Are  there  no  beggars  at  your  gate, 

Nor  any  poor  about  your  lands  ? 
Oh !  teach  the  orphan-boy  to  read, 

Or  teach  the  orphan-girl  to  sew, 
Pray  Heaven  for  a  human  heart, 

And  let  the  foolish  yeoman  go. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere 

DECEMBER  FOURTEENTH 
Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

There  stands  a  spedlre  in  your  hall : 
The  guilt  of  blood  is  at  your  door : 

You  changed  a  wholesome  heart  to  gall. 
[   128  ] 


You  held  your  course  without  remorse, 
To  make  him  trust  his  modest  worth, 

And,  last,  you  fix'd  a  vacant  stare, 
And  slew  him  with  your  noble  birth. 

Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere 

DECEMBER  FIFTEENTH 

But,  sir,  you  know 

That  these  two  parties  still  divide  the  world  — 
Of  those  that  want,  and  those  that  have:  and  still 
The  same  old  sore  breaks  out  from  age  to  age 

With  much  the  same  result. 

Walking  to  the  Mail 

DECEMBER  SIXTEENTH 

We  pass :  the  path  that  each  man  trod 
Is  dim,  or  will  be  dim,  with  weeds: 
What  fame  is  left  for  human  deeds 

In  endless  age  ?  It  rests  with  God. 

O  hollow  wraith  of  dying  fame, 
Fade  wholly,  while  the  soul  exults, 
And  self-infolds  the  large  results 

Of  force  that  would  have  forged  a  name. 

/«  Memorlam 

DECEMBER  SEVENTEENTH 

Till  the  war-drum  throbb'd  no  longer,  and  the 

battle  flags  were  furl'd 

In  the  Parliament  of  man,  the  Federation  of  the 
world. 

[   I29  ] 


There  the  common  sense  of  most  shall  hold  a  fret- 
ful realm  in  awe, 

And  the  kindly  earth  shall  slumber,  lapt  in  uni- 
versal law. 

Locksley  Hall 

DECEMBER  EIGHTEENTH 

I  have  lived  my  life,  and  that  which  I  have  done 
May  He  within  himself  make  pure  !  but  thou, 
If  thou  shouldst  never  see  my  face  again, 

Pray  for  my  soul. 

Morte  D*  Arthur 

DECEMBER  NINETEENTH 

More  things  are  wrought  by  prayer 
Than  this  world  dreams  of.  Wherefore,  let  thy 

voice 

Rise  like  a  fountain  for  me  night  and  day. 
For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  goats 
That  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain, 
If,  knowing  God,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prayer 
Both  for  themselves  and  those  who  call  them  friend  ? 
For  so  the  whole  round  earth  is  every  way 
Bound  by  gold  chains  about  the  feet  of  God. 

Morte  D"  Arthur 
DECEMBER  TWENTIETH 

There  is  none  that  does  his  work,  not  one ; 
A  touch  of  their  office  might  have  sufficed, 
But  the  churchmen  fain  would  kill  their  church, 

As  the  churches  have  kill'd  their  Christ. 

Maud 
[  '30] 


DECEMBER  TWENTY-FIRST 

I  am  a  part  of  all  that  I  have  met. 


Ulysses 


DECEMBER  TWENTY-SECOND 
O  living  will  that  shalt  endure 

When  all  that  seems  shall  suffer  shock, 

Rise  in  the  spiritual  rock, 
Flow  thro'  our  deeds  and  make  them  pure, 

That  we  may  lift  from  out  of  dust 

A  voice  as  unto  him  that  hears, 

A  cry  above  the  conquer'd  years 
To  one  that  with  us  works,  and  trust, 

With  faith  that  comes  of  self-control, 
The  truths  that  never  can  be  proved 
Until  we  close  with  all  we  loved, 

And  all  we  flow  from,  soul  in  soul. 

In  Mcmoriam 

DECEMBER  TWENTY-THIRD 

We  sleep  and  wake  and  sleep,  but  all  things  move  ; 
The  Sun  flies  forward  to  his  brother  Sun  ; 
The  dark  Earth  follows  wheel'd  in  her  ellipse; 
And  human  things  returning  on  themselves 
Move  onward,  leading  up  the  golden  year. 

The  Golden  Year 


DECEMBER  TWENTY-FOURTH 

The  time  draws  near  the  birth  of  Christ: 
The  moon  is  hid ;  the  night  is  still; 
The  Christmas  bells  from  hill  to  hill 
Answer  each  other  in  the  mist. 

Each  voice  four  changes  on  the  wind, 
That  now  dilate,  and  now  decrease, 
Peace  and  goodwill,  goodwill  and  peace, 

Peace  and  goodwill,  to  all  mankind. 

In  Memorlam 

DECEMBER  TWENTY-FIFTH 

And,  further  inland,  voices  echoed — "Come 
With  all  good  things,  and  war  shall  be  no  more." 
At  this  a  hundred  bells  began  to  peal, 
That  with  the  sound  I  woke,  and  heard  indeed 
The  clear  church-bells  ring  in  the  Christmas  morn. 

Morte  D"  Arthur 

DECEMBER  TWENTY-SIXTH 

But  we  grow  old.  Ah  !  when  shall  all  men's  good 
Be  each  man's  rule,  and  universal  Peace 
Lie  like  a  shaft  of  light  across  the  land, 
And  like  a  lane  of  beams  athwart  the  sea, 
Thro'  all  the  circle  of  the  golden  year  ? 

The  Golden  Year 

DECEMBER  TWENTY-SEVENTH 

Old  age  hath  yet  his  honour  and  his  toil ; 
Death  closes  all :  but  something  ere  the  end, 
[  '3*] 


Some  work  of  noble  note,  may  yet  be  done, 
Not  unbecoming  men  that  strove  with  Gods. 

Ulysses 

DECEMBER  TWENTY-EIGHTH 

All  things  are  taken  from  us,  and  become 
Portions  and  parcels  of  the  dreadful  Past. 

'The  Lotos-Eaters 

DECEMBER  TWENTY-NINTH 

Tho'  much  is  taken,  much  abides;  and  tho' 
We  are  not  now  that  strength  which  in  old  days 
Moved  earth  and  heaven;  that  which  we  are,  we 

are ; 

One  equal  temper  of  heroic  hearts, 
Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in  will 
To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield. 

Ulysses 

DECEMBER  THIRTIETH 

Full  knee-deep  lies  the  winter  snow, 
And  the  winter  winds  are  wearily  sighing : 
Toll  ye  the  church-bell  sad  and  slow, 
And  tread  softly  and  speak  low, 
For  the  old  year  lies  a-dying. 

Old  year,  you  must  not  die; 

You  came  to  us  so  readily, 

You  lived  with  us  so  steadily, 

Old  year,  you  shall  not  die. 

The  Death  of  the  Old  Year 

[   '33] 


DECEMBER  THIRTY-FIRST 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky, 
The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light: 
The  year  is  dying  in  the  night; 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 

Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new, 
Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow: 
The  year  is  going,  let  him  go; 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true. 

Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind, 
For  those  that  here  we  see  no  more; 
Ring  out  the  feud  of  rich  and  poor, 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind. 

Ring  in  the  valiant  man  and  free, 
The  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand; 
Ring  out  the  darkness  of  the  land, 

Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  be. 


///  Memoriam 


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